The Loyal Wife_A gripping psychological thriller with a twist

by Natalie Barelli

  “None taken,” I say sweetly. Because hey, no big deal, right? I can feel rather than see Mike next to me release his breath, like a punctured balloon.

  “Mrs. Mitchell,” O’Brien calls out as I recede from the room. “Can we ask you a couple of questions?”

  Mike objects, but I give him a very small nod as if to say, don’t worry babe, I know to keep my mouth shut.

  “Yes, of course. Happy to help. What’s this about?” I ask.

  “It’s about Ms. Charlene Donovan. Remember her?” she says. Does she mean to make a joke?

  “Yes, of course, but that’s all sorted. You should have called and saved yourselves the trouble. The paper is printing a retraction and an apology, isn’t that right, darling?” I say, feeling inspired.

  “Yes, that’s right,” he says in a surprisingly confident voice.

  “A retraction?” Torres directs the question to Mike.

  “That’s right. Now if that’ll be all—”

  “Did you have an affair with Charlene Donovan and then provide an abortion for her? Mr. Mitchell?” Torres asks.

  Suddenly we’ve all forgotten that we’re waiting for a lawyer that’s not coming, because Mike has sprung from his chair.

  “Absolutely, categorically not.” And I have to say, I’m a little impressed, a little turned on even, by how easily he can lie. I think you could strap a lie detector on him right here and right now, and he’d pass.

  “And I thought you weren’t interested in my private life,” he sneers. A mistake I think. He can’t have it both ways, either he did have an affair, or he didn’t. But he keeps going through a diatribe of denials, complete with barely hidden legal threats.

  “That has nothing to do with me, you hear?” He makes wide gestures with his arms, hands flat, like he’s cutting grass or something. “Nothing! And you have no right to suggest otherwise!”

  “We’re not suggesting you had anything to do with it, Mr. Mitchell,” Torres says, his arms resting on his knees, which I notice is a favorite position for him. “Sit down, Mr. Mitchell,” he adds. “We just want to ask a couple of questions, then we’ll be out of your hair, is that all right with you?”

  Mike sits back down, and he nods quickly. “All right,” he says.

  Then we go around in circles. They keep asking the same questions and he gives variations on the same answers. It goes on and on. Did Mike ever have sexual relations with Charlene Donovan? (No). Did he know she came back to North Carolina? (No). Had she been in touch with him at all after she returned to Texas? (Absolutely not).

  Then Torres turns to me. “Were you aware of the rumors about your husband and Ms. Donovan?”

  Mike interjects with a stern “Please don’t harass my wife, Officer Torres, or we’ll have to stop right now.”

  He nods and exchanges a look with O’Brien.

  “You used to own a house near the Uwharrie Forest, didn’t you?” she asks.

  Mike says he doesn’t think he should have to answer that question, but I’ve already blurted out, “Yes.”

  “Why did you sell it?” That question is directed at me.

  “My husband owned the house before we were married,” I say. “The kids loved spending time there, but they’re all grown up now—” and I resist the urge to look up in the direction of Madison’s bedroom, “—and really, the house was too big for just the two of us, by that stage.” Mike nods a lot at that and doesn’t notice O’Brien gazing around her, taking in the size and opulence of our home. I know what she’s thinking. That other house must have been like a fucking castle if they think it was too big.

  “Whose decision was it?” O’Brien asks.

  “To sell the house? Mike’s,” I say, just as Mike says, “Tamra’s.”

  I feel myself go bright red. “I guess it was a mutual decision,” I say, but it’s too late. Mike’s face is rigid with anger. His eyes have grown dark and I desperately try to back-pedal. I tell them that it’d been an ongoing discussion, and it was two years ago so it’s hard to remember.

  “Detective, my wife is being coy here. The fact is that Deborah, my ex-wife and the mother of my children, and I bought that house, and Deb decorated it. Tamra hated it because of that. She always complained that it reminded her of my past. I didn’t want to sell it, I loved that house in fact, but in the end, it wasn’t worth the grief.”

  A wave of crimson rises up my throat and I’m speechless by the audacity of his words. They’re all staring at me. I should say something, I want to stand up and shout in Mike’s face that he is the world’s biggest asshole, but in the end, I just give quick shakes of the head, stare into my lap, and knot my hands together, trying to keep the well of hot tears from rising.

  “We need to know where you’ve been, from last Monday morning until Wednesday morning. Both of you. Can you write down the times, who you were with, and where you were? We’ll pick it up this afternoon.”

  “Why?” Mike asks, his tone dripping with outrage while I bite my bottom lip.

  “The victim’s body didn’t surface of its own accord. Someone dug it up to make sure it was found. Probably Tuesday night, but it could have been earlier. So we want to cover both Monday, and Tuesday.”

  “Well, that’s easy then,” Mike declares, crossing one leg over the other. “The three of us were here Monday night.”

  “Can anyone vouch for that? Outside of you two I mean.”

  We both look at each other.

  “I’ve had phone conversations with people, I can write that down for you.”

  Torres makes a note. “Anything else?”

  “I was online, on various social accounts, that should help, right?” I say.

  Torres nods. “You said that was Monday night? So what about Tuesday night?”

  Mike jumps in with “My daughter and I went to a restaurant. There are plenty of other people there who can vouch for that.”

  “I thought you said the body was moved Monday night,” I say.

  “No, I didn’t. And I never said it was moved. I said it was unearthed. Did you go to the restaurant as well, Mrs. Mitchell?”

  “No. It was a father-daughter evening.”

  “So you were here by yourself? Can anyone vouch for that?”

  “Yes, my friend Lauren. She came by to visit.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  They leave with a ‘we’ll be in touch later today, don’t leave town, thanks for your time.’ I let them out and I lean out the door and whisper to O’Brien.

  “Are you going to arrest him?”

  “Not today.”

  “Tomorrow? Soon?”

  She does a little flick of the head and narrows her eyes at me. “You sound like you want us to, Mrs. Mitchell.”

  I hiss at her. “No, no, no! Nothing like that. I just want to know, that’s all.”

  “Do you know something?” she asks.

  Madison materializes behind me, trying to look like she hasn’t been eavesdropping all this time.

  “Thank you, Detectives, I hope that puts an end to the matter,” I say forcefully before closing the door in her stunned face.

  “Dad?” Madison whines.

  “Not now, Maddie!” Mike booms, and his tone is so forceful that she retreats immediately, bottom lip quivering.

  Mike reaches for the bottle of Scotch that sits atop the corner bar. I snatch it away from him. “It’s only two o’clock in the afternoon! What are you doing?”

  His face is ashen. “I—I don’t know.” He grabs his hair with both hands.

  What did you think would happen? I want to tell him. Did you really think all this would never catch up with you? You can actually sleep at night?

  I rest my hand on his shoulder, my face a picture of innocence. “Don’t jump down my throat, but did you do something you shouldn’t have?”

  His head snaps toward me. “What the fuck does that mean, Tamra?”

  “It’s a heck of a coincidence, wouldn’t you say? That your… that she turns up dead less t
han two miles from our own house. Isn’t it time we talked about this?”

  His face distorts. I’ve never seen him like this before. “No! No, no, no—”

  I soften my voice. “Because I’m on your side, no matter what. We’re in this together, okay? So you can tell me anything.”

  He swears to me over and over that he had nothing to do with it. Did you know she was back? I ask. Did she get in touch with you? He swears he’s had no contact with her since before the… intervention. That’s what he calls the abortion, the intervention.

  He pleads with me. He begs me. I have to believe him. If I thought that he was capable of hurting anyone, then he is lost, he says. He has never laid a hand on her, he swears on his children’s head, which almost makes me laugh out-loud considering we all know he had sex with her, and probably more than once, but I know he means to say he didn’t harm her.

  “Tamra, baby doll, you can’t think that I’m capable of killing someone!” he whines.

  “Maybe we’re all capable of murder, given the right circumstances,” I reply, trying to stop my eyes from flicking up in the general direction of Madison’s bedroom. “You have to come clean, Mike.”

  “But I keep telling you that I—”

  “No, I mean about the—intervention.” I have to admit, it does sound better.

  “Are you completely crazy? If I admit to that, they’ll think I killed her!”

  “Yeah, and if you keep denying it and they find out later it was true, how are you going to look then? Think about it! She’s dead, Mike! How do you think that looks?”

  He turns to me then, his eyes dark. “Why did you say that, in there? That it was my idea to sell the house?”

  I give a small shrug, look away. “I got flustered,” I say.

  “Flustered? How can you get flustered about something like that? We agreed, Tamra! I didn’t want to sell the house, you know it was you!”

  I’m speechless. I stare at him, my jaw slack with shock. His narrowed eyes are daring me to contradict him. All of a sudden I feel nauseous.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “I went along with it because you convinced me. I didn’t want to sell it, in fact I would have much preferred to keep that house.”

  I just can’t believe what I’m hearing. For a moment I think I’m going crazy. Could he really have forgotten what happened that summer?

  Slowly, deliberately, I explain to him in words that I think he should be able to understand. “We sold the house to get her money together, Mike, remember?”

  He motions to me to keep my voice down.

  “We had to sell it, you know that.” I say the words again slowly, deliberately, and softly.

  “You never cared for that house,” he snaps. Which is true. That house was part of his history, his First Family, and I couldn’t stand being there, but it’s also completely beside the point.

  “We needed the money fast, remember?”

  “That may be true, but we could have gotten it another way.”

  “We went over that, Mike. It was the easiest and quickest way to get our hands on it.” And it was all your fault, I want to add.

  “So why did you say that it was me just now?” he asks. “We’d agreed, if it ever came up, if anyone asked, we sold it because the kids had moved on.”

  “And that’s what I said.”

  “No, that’s not what you said! You put it all on me! That I wanted to sell it! That it was my idea!”

  “And you made it sound like I couldn’t live with your past! All that crap about Deborah and that I couldn’t bear it!”

  “Well, that’s the truth, isn’t it?”

  “You didn’t have to tell them!”

  “And if you had stuck to the story in the first place, I wouldn’t have! Christ! It’s like I’m talking to a brick wall!”

  It was probably a mistake, I realize that now, but it’s too late. I can’t change it. “Look, I’m sorry! I’ll tell them it was me, okay?”

  “Yeah, and how’s that going to look?” He smirks.

  I turn to face him more fully. He’s shaking. He’s lost, I suddenly realize. And very frightened.

  “I haven’t done anything, Tamra. I swear it. Please believe me.”

  Wow. I am staring in the eyes of the devil himself.

  “So how do you explain it?” I ask.

  “I don’t know, don’t you see? Maybe my competitors are trying to frame me?”

  True to form, Mike takes it back to Mike. Not a thought for the poor girl, or her mom and dad who have just learned that their missing daughter is never coming home.

  “What about you?” he asks.

  “What about me?”

  “Did you ever talk to her? After that night?”

  I can’t help it, my eyes widen, and I blink a few times. He’s still looking up at me, expectantly. Waiting for an answer.

  “Did you know she came back?” he asks. “If you do, tell me!”

  My God. I shake my head in disbelief. This man is something else. I’m starting to suspect I’m dealing with a psychopath. He knows very well that wouldn’t be possible, that she never came back, because she never went away in the first place.

  “No.”

  He leans back in his chair and looks at the ceiling.

  Then it comes to me. “You need to get in touch with her parents.”

  “Are you out of your mind?” he growls.

  “Offer your condolences. That’s the first thing. The article’s out there now. You need to get on the front foot on this one, Mike.”

  He rubs a hand across his eyes, then he says, “I don’t understand what’s happening, Tamra,” in a voice thick with fear that I don’t recognize, and it makes my heart break. Because after everything I’ve done for him, the ways I have stood by him, in ways he doesn’t even know about, and for all the hurt he has lashed down upon me, I still love him.

  Just kidding.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It was almost the end of summer, the year before last. Mike had been talking with Pastor Frank about the possibility of running for governor, but he wasn’t telling anyone yet. But something changed in him. He became moody. He’d be lost in his own world and I’d have to repeat myself whenever I wanted his attention.

  I’ll never forget the shock of finding out. We were out for dinner, something we did often, but it hadn’t been as enjoyable as usual. We were waiting for the check, and he excused himself to use the men’s room. His cell phone was on the table, and when it chimed with a text, I picked it up.

  Don’t delay for too long handsome, the window is not going to stay open forever xox C.

  When he got back to the table, I’d already left. That night we had the biggest fight we’ve ever had. I kept waiting for him to explain, tell me something that would make sense, convince me that this wasn’t the biggest betrayal of my life, but instead he just sat there, with his head in hands. Then he looked up and said, “There’s something I have to tell you.”

  So he told me. It happened once, and once only, he swore to me. He said that she had seduced him. That she was a monster in sheep’s clothing and that’s probably the only part of that sorry tale I believed. When he said that she was pregnant, my heart just broke into a million little pieces. In that moment, I thought he was telling me he was leaving me to start a new life with that girl and their baby. The baby that he’d said he and I couldn’t have because, I love you so much, I don’t want to share you with anyone else.

  But no, he really wanted my help. He had been tricked, he said. They’d been at a dinner, a working dinner he said, whatever the fuck that means. I mean, what kind of work do these people actually do at dinner where they drink so much that they end up in bed together five minutes after dessert?

  He was lost. He had gone to Pastor Frank to confess, that’s what he said—although as it turned out, it was more of a “help-me-father-for-she-has-sinned” kind of confession. Pastor Frank told Mike that the devil presented himself in many guises,
and that a young woman inspiring lustful thoughts was one of his usual tricks. The way Mike told it, Pastor Frank had assured him he was being way too hard on himself, and he shouldn’t shoulder all the blame, considering.

  Considering what? I asked.

  “You haven’t seen her, so you don’t understand,” he replied. She was out to get him from the first day. She must have targeted him. For money, blackmail, power, the usual. And there are always people only too happy to stab you in the back in this business, and she could well have been planted by one of them.

  I nodded. Did it make sense? Not really, but it made me feel better to think that he had been set up. I was still crushed, I was still numb from shock, but by then he was on his knees, with both hands gripping mine, and he swore to me that he had never done anything like this before, and it had only happened that one time, and that he would do anything to make it up to me.

  But what about the pregnancy? I asked.

  She’s having an abortion, he replied.

  Oh my God! Really?

  It’s going to cost us half a million dollars, but yes.

  Us?

  So she really was after the money, I murmured.

  I told you, she’s a scam artist, he said.

  And I knew he was right. Someone who agrees to be paid all that money to have an abortion is not a victim. As scams go, if you have no morals whatsoever, it’s not a bad one. You could move onto the next target in a matter of weeks.

  Was he absolutely sure she was telling the truth? I had to ask. The odds of getting pregnant after just one sexual encounter are pretty slim.

  He was sure.

  So that’s it? You give her half a million dollars and she will go away?

  That’s exactly it, he’d said.

  And suddenly I was lightheaded with relief. She was an awful person, depraved even. She’d lured him into a trap and he was powerless because he was weak. It takes a certain type of man to withstand the siren song of a beautiful, young enchantress, and Mike was not that type of man. I knew that, and so be it. But he had been tricked, and he had learned his lesson.