“Her housemate came home. Charlene had moved out and left a note. It was agreed that Charlene would move out around that time anyway, so that wasn’t a red flag in itself. Charlene took most of her clothes and asked that the rest be sent to her mother in Austin. She left money, too. For bills. She also sent a text the next day, a thank-you message.”
I rub a hand over my eyes. My head is pounding. I can’t do it. I can’t think. Nothing makes sense anymore.
“You’re shaking, you okay?” she asks.
I ignore the question. “Who saw her in Austin?”
“There are records. She texted her mother from the airport, from her own phone. We have CCTV images of her.”
“You do?”
She nods. “At the airport.”
I lean forward. “Can you get that? The CCTV footage?”
“I already have. That’s what I want to show you. Because I had another good look, and I don’t think it’s Charlene.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Of course it’s not Charlene. When I first read that her family believed she had disappeared in Austin, I thought maybe she’d given her ticket away before she died. Something like that. I didn’t know then, there was actual CCTV footage of her.
“What do you know, Tamra?”
Fiona is frowning at me. Did I say something out loud?
“Show it to me,” I blurt out.
“Talk to me, Tamra. Tell me what you know, then I’ll show you.”
I don’t think I have a choice anymore. “I already told you I saw Charlene get into Mike’s car.” She nods, but doesn’t say anything. I take a deep breath. “I followed them.”
And so begins my tale. I tell her how I saw him hit her with his car, and that maybe it was an accident, I couldn’t tell.
“Fuck, Tamra! Why didn’t you tell me this before?”
“Because I was scared,” I lie. “I was afraid he’d find out I was talking to you, because who else could possibly have seen him, and not reported it? I was afraid of what he would do to me.” Which is kind of true, I guess. She nods, and for now, I think I’m off the hook.
“So what did you do?” she asks.
I tell her the light version. The version that skips over the part where I buried her.
“I didn’t go back to Greensboro for hours. I drove away, and I stayed away most of the night. I sat near the river and tried to make sense of what I’d just witnessed and what I should do about it. In the end I decided to go home and confront him. When I got back, the sun was rising. Mike wasn’t home, but I was shocked to find that his car was, and in a perfect state.”
That last part is true. It was astonishingly clean and without a trace of the horrible events of the night before. When he called me the next day, he was gentle and kind. “How did it go?” he asked, and I lost my breath in a shocked gasp.
“You know exactly how it went,” I whispered.
“I can’t hear you, babe. Can you speak up?”
I told him it went fine, that we’d talk when he got back. He told me again how sorry he was to have put me into this situation. That he would never forget it as long as he lived. That he was lucky to have me as his wife.
Is that how we’re going to play it? I wondered.
Fiona remains still and silent for the entirety of my story. She can’t take her eyes off me. Her jaw hangs slack—it even makes me laugh out loud, which is amazing, considering.
“Can I see the CCTV images now?”
“Okay.” She rummages through her oversized bag, pulls out a folder, and slides a printed image in a clear plastic sheet across the table.
“Have you seen this one before?”
“No.” I wonder how I could have missed it.
“That’s the image that was circulated in the news when Charlene first went missing two years ago. I mentioned she sent text messages to her mother when she got to Austin, right? One from the airport, then another one later that day, from downtown. She told her mother she was staying with a friend and would come home in a couple of days.
I feel lightheaded, confused. For a moment I think maybe I buried the wrong woman. Then I shake the thought away. I think I’m going crazy.
“Did she? Stay with her friend?” I ask.
“No. The friend was real, but she hadn’t heard from Charlene in months.”
I’m so relieved to hear that, I let out a long breath.
“What’s up? You know who this is?”
Fiona thinks my reaction has to do with this picture. I bend down to take a closer look. It’s a woman with shoulder-length blond hair wearing a long dark coat. The image is head on, but it’s blurry, grainy. From the little that I can make out of her features, sure, it could be Charlene, but then again, it could be any female between the ages of seventeen and thirty-five with blond hair.
Heck, it could be me.
“So?” she asks.
“Give me a minute.” I didn’t spend much time with Charlene. I picked her up from her place that evening, and I drove her for thirty minutes to the clinic. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t pay attention to what she looked like. She had seduced my husband, was I interested? Damn right, I was. But it was dark, and I was driving. The best view of her I had was when she got in and when she got out. She was pretty, sure, no doubt about that. Was she so breath-taking that men’s legs buckled at the sight of her, leaving them drooling all over her manicured toes as she twirled passed? I wouldn’t have thought so. Unless you’re my husband, apparently.
Fiona snaps her fingers under my nose. “Earth to Tamra?”
I flinch. “Please don’t do that. It’s really annoying.”
“Sorry.”
I tap the photo with my nail. “That coat is unusual.” It’s a long, double-breasted coat with a shiny edging and a fur collar. “Do you know for a fact that it’s hers?”
She nods. “Her housemate confirmed it. Apparently, it’s a cheap Burberry knockoff. She used to wear it all the time.”
She wasn’t wearing it the night I saw her. It was too warm, and anyway, I would have remembered. If I ever meet the housemate, I’ll have to ask her if she knows where she got it. That’s how shallow I am.
I’m sorry for your loss. Any chance you could tell me where she scored that Burberry knockoff coat?
“Do you have any other photos? I can’t really tell with this.”
“That’s the best one, and the only one I had blown up. Here, let me show you.” She grabs her phone, flicks her fingers on the screen, and hands it to me. “It’s the best part of the CCTV footage. It’s only two minutes, but she’s too distant after that. Or facing the wrong way.”
“Where did you get that?” I ask.
She shoots me a look that says, you know who you’re talking to, right?
I watch the full two minutes without speaking, then I tap replay and zoom.
“So?”
“I don’t know, there’s something but—”
“There is?”
I peer at the video, then I catch it. It’s not her face that gives it away, it’s something in her gait, her demeanor.
“Holy crap, my God.” My hand flies to my mouth.
“What is it?”
I press pause and the screen freezes, but this time she’s side-on. I squint my eyes and peer at her profile. I tap the spot with my finger. My nail makes a light clicking sound against the glass. My heart is beating so fast it’s making me breathless.
“Do you recognize her? Is it Charlene?”
“No. It’s not Charlene.”
“Tell me! Who is it?”
“Oh, God. I can’t, I’m sorry.”
“What do you mean?”
I snatch the printout and my bag and slide out of the booth.
“Where are you going?” Fiona asks.
“I have to talk to someone.”
“Who?”
“I’ll call you!” I yell on the way out.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
I’m in shock. The cold calcu
lation of this entire tragedy is making my skin crawl. I should never, ever have kept my mouth shut back then. I am a fool, and probably an accessory to murder. But now, I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that Mike planned everything to happen just the way it did.
When I get to my house, I run to the door and press my finger on the doorbell. I have a key, obviously, but want to be able to see the shock on his face when he opens the door and he sees me, and I tell him that I know everything, and he’s going to jail. I press the doorbell again, and finally the door opens.
“Tamra! I didn’t expect you.”
“Oh my God! Lauren! You don’t waste any time, do you?”
She actually stands in the doorway, in my doorway, barring my way.
“What are you doing here, Tamra?”
“Excuse me? I live here, what the fuck are you doing here, Lauren? No, don’t bother answering that,” I laugh. Bitterly? Damn right. “You can have him, by the way. He’s a creep and a criminal and he’s all yours.”
She flinches at that. “What’s the matter with you? Is that what all this is about? You ransack my house looking for what, exactly?”
“Oh wow, you’re good. You’re also wasting your time so get the fuck out of my way.”
She doesn’t budge. “Mike’s not here. He’s out of town.”
“Is he? I want to see Madison. Can you let me pass? You’re in my house!”
She steps forward through the doorway. She’s only opened it enough so that she can fit in, and as a result I can’t see inside. In her softest, almost conspiratorial voice, she says, “Yeah, look, I think it’s best if you don’t come in. She’s really upset.” She comes out of the house and pulls the door behind her, not quite shut, but almost.
“What are you talking about? What’s happened?” I move to go around her, to push the door into my house, but Lauren blocks my way.
“Really, she’s not ready to see you.”
“Why?”
“Oh, God, where do I begin? Your association with the young woman, Charlene? You drove her? In your car? You’ve lied to Maddie about having an MBA, about your past, and when Maddie finds out about all of that, instead of talking to her, you just up and leave.”
“Oh Christ, Lauren, don’t do this!”
“Why? Because it’s all about you? You have to understand, she feels let down. It’s really hard on her. She finds out she has no idea who you are, then you cut and run like that.”
“Oh Lauren, you really are a bitch.”
“Next time, maybe give her a call first, you know? Rather than just showing up unannounced.” She puts her hand on my arm, and I almost hit her as I snatch it back.
“Fuck off, Lauren!” I storm back to my car, but not before I catch the glint of triumph in her eyes. When I turn around, she’s gone back inside. I look up, and see Madison looking down at me.
“Maddie? Come down!” I yell.
She stares at me blankly.
I smile, beckon her with my hand. Come down, I mouth, but she turns away. Seconds later, a hand draws the drapes.
It’s the first time I’ve called her Maddie.
* * *
Madison doesn’t need babysitting, so if Mike isn’t home, then I figure that Lauren would leave eventually. I park the car just off Fisher Park Circle on Carolina Street in a spot that gives me a clear view but also provides some privacy. I don’t care if I have to stay here all night.
As it turns out, it’s not all night. Just thirty minutes later her cute little BMW slides past me.
This time I don’t try to break the door down. Just a gentle squeeze of the doorbell, and a few minutes later, Madison opens the door, her eyes wide at the sight of me.
“Hey, sorry about that before, with Lauren,” I tell her. “How are you doing?”
She doesn’t stop me, but she doesn’t greet me with open arms, either. At least she lets me inside my own house.
She twirls a lock of hair around a finger, one foot on top of the other. “What’s going on?”
“Why don’t we go inside, okay?”
I make us a cup of hot chocolate. I haven’t had one of those in years, but it’s comfort food, I’m told, and right now, I need all the comfort I can get. “Lauren told me you’re upset that I left, is that true?”
She makes a sound, like a snort. “You must be joking.”
Okay, so maybe this isn’t quite the answer I was hoping for. “The last few days have been absolutely insane, with the cops, and that stupid article in the Tribune.” I take my stool at the kitchen bar and put down two steaming mugs, pushing one across to her.
“It’s low-fat milk,” I point out. “Hardly any calories, I swear.” I smile, to show it’s a joke, but she doesn’t even look up.
“Did you leave those pamphlets in my room?” she asks. “For the treatment center?”
“I did.”
“And you called my mom?”
“Okay yeah, I did. I’m really worried about you, Maddie. I know what pressure you’re under, I’m worried you’re doing yourself some damage.”
She scoffs again. It’s the only means of communication she has with me. I speak, she scoffs. At least she’s here, with me, at the kitchen counter. Unbelievably, that’s progress.
“I don’t think it’s any of your business,” she says now, “But if you must know, yeah, I’m stressed. I’m studying, for real.” She looks at me with an expression that says, unlike some people, and then she adds, “I guess you wouldn’t know what that’s like.”
She really doesn’t let up, that girl. I take a deep breath. “Madison,” then, to soften the blow, I add, “honey,” then I put my hand on her arm and finish with, “I know you’ve dropped out of Columbia.”
She says nothing, widens her eyes, and I watch the blood drain from her face. “Does my dad know?”
“No! I didn’t tell him. I haven’t told anyone. That’s a conversation that you need to have with your dad.”
She’s silent but her eyes are pleading. She begins to shake.
“What wrong? What’s going on?”
Suddenly, without warning, she begins to cry a torrent of tears. In between sobs she tells me how much she hates the course. She’s can’t stand Business Studies. She sucks at it. It’s the most boring thing in the whole world and she should never have done it.
“So why did you?”
“Because I wanted to be like my dad. I thought it would be something we could share, you know?”
You thought he would love you more, I want to say. I should have been a psychologist.
“I was scared that he would throw me away, like he does with everyone else, eventually. I thought if I could be as much like him as possible, then, you know, he’d stick around.”
“Maddie, your dad adores you. He thinks you walk on water. You could do a degree in, I don’t know, toilet paper design and he’d be proud of you.”
That makes her chuckle, I think. Maybe it’s a sob. I can’t tell exactly.
“But you’re going to have to tell him, like, as soon as possible. You can’t keep lying to him.”
“I know.”
I’ve never seen Maddie so vulnerable. It’s a strange feeling, I don’t know what to do. I want to take her in my arms, but I don’t dare. She’ll run off, I think, if I try to get too close.
“There’s another thing, Maddie, actually, it’s the main reason I’m here.”
I pull the printout from my bag and lay it on the kitchen counter. “This is you.”
She blanches, picks it up to take a closer look. There’s a slight tremor in her hand.
“No, that’s not me.”
“I wasn’t asking.”
There’s a flash of something in her eyes I can’t quite read. “Maddie…” I lay a hand over her arm. She doesn’t flick it away. “Do you know why I had to leave?”
“No.”
“Because your dad did something very wrong two years ago, that has something to do with Charlene Donovan’s disappearance. I stood by
him back then, and now, at the first hint of trouble, he has thrown me under the bus.”
“What did he do?”
I hesitate, for a moment. “You’ll have to find out anyway, maybe it’s better if you hear from me. Your dad, he… he ran over that girl, Charlene. I’m sorry, Maddie, but he killed her. I think it was an accident.”
Her eyes open wide, almost in slow motion. Then her hand flies to her mouth and she closes her eyes. I think she’s going to be sick.
“I’m really sorry, but it’s the truth, I swear. And he won’t take responsibility for what he’s done. I’m really worried that he’s going to do the same to you. Not because he doesn’t love you, obviously, but because he’s weak, and he’s scared. I know he asked you to take this trip. This is you, at the Austin airport, wearing Charlene’s clothes. This—” I tap gently on the photo, “—was taken before you had your mole removed.”
She touches her cheek quickly, right to the spot where it used to be.
“You need to talk to me. And a lawyer, too, but start with me.”
“How do you know all this?”
“About your dad? I saw him.”
“How? Where?”
I give a short version of the events, but I don’t think she believes me. She starts to cry again. “Maybe it’s you who killed her! And you’re trying to blame my dad!” she yells.
Suddenly she’s hyperventilating. It’s actually quite scary. “Okay, try to relax, Maddie,” I tell her, while I rummage around for a paper bag. That’s what you’re supposed to do I think. I can hear her behind me, it’s an awful sound, the sound of someone having a panic attack. I’m throwing open drawers and cabinets and rummaging under the sink, but there are no paper bags. Then, all of sudden, it’s over. Like one of those flash storms. Slowly. I turn around, she’s pale, she has a hand on her chest, she’s catching her breath.
“You okay?” I ask, my heart beating probably as fast as hers.
“I think so,” she says.
“You gave me a fright,” I tell her. We’re like a mirror image of each other, my hand on my own chest. I let out a laugh, like a cackle. She goes to the sink and gets herself a glass of water.
The Loyal Wife_A gripping psychological thriller with a twist Page 19