Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap

by Cynthia Hamilton

  Madeline smiled wanly at Mike as she linked her fingers in his. They sat there for a moment, not saying anything, just sending and receiving the comfort that comes from having been through a lot with each other. Without warning, Madeline burst into tears. Alarmed by the sudden breakdown, Mike slipped in beside her, wrapping his arms around her as she shook, great sobs wracking her whole body.

  “What can I do to help?” Mike asked as Madeline sat back and dried her tears on her napkin. She laughed helplessly as she tried to blot the wet patches on Mike’s shirt. Mike pulled her hand away and kissed it. A current passed through them, one that threw her further off kilter. She let go of his hand and began searching through her purse. She pulled out her compact and groaned at her reflection.

  “Stop—you look ravishing.” She laughed out loud at this.

  “If you’re buttering me up for a loan, I can’t help you right now,” she cracked, discreetly dabbing powder on her face.

  “Ha, ha,” Mike said, stung by the wisecrack. “I’ll have you know I’m quite financially secure now, but thanks for your concern.” Madeline gave him a sideways glance.

  “Yeah?” Her eyes traveled out the window to the brown, two-door Mercedes with the top down, circa 1960, as if putting it and Mike together for the first time.

  “It was my dad’s. He left it to me, along with an apartment complex in West Hollywood. You should see it—old-time ’40s glamor. It’s priceless.” Madeline stowed her compact, her eyes never leaving Mike’s.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know he passed away,” she said, laying her hand on his arm. Mike’s features became pensive, but the mood passed quickly.

  “Yeah, it’s been a couple years now,” he said, sitting up straighter as their food arrived. Madeline ate a fry while she waited for further disclosure.

  “You got everything you need for now?” the waitress asked, her mind already on her next task.

  “Yeah, we’re good,” Mike said, avoiding Madeline’s inquiring gaze for as long as he could. “We came to terms with each other about a year after I sobered up. We were good together at the end. He had emphysema for five years, but I didn’t even know about it until I finally got over myself and went to see him. There’d been a lot of bad blood between us, as you probably remember. But we both had been through enough bad times to know what mattered and what didn’t. Anyway…”

  “I’m glad you were able to get past your differences,” Madeline said before she worked her teeth around the impossibly full sandwich.

  “Yeah, it all worked out in the end. I took care of him for eighteen months, and now he’s taken care of me. That man saved almost every nickel he ever made. Kind of made up for all my frivolousness. So, if you’re in need of a loan, look no further.” Madeline had to laugh. This was certainly a unique situation for them; it had always been the other way around, as far back as their college days.

  “Thanks, but I’m not there yet. I do have to sell my car, though. That’s something I’m not looking forward to. I need the money, but I just don’t have the time to deal with it.”

  “I bet you’re going to miss a ride like that. Where is it?” Mike asked, craning his neck to look out the window.

  “It’s parked two cars in front of yours.” Mike leaned over the table to look up the street.

  “Sweet! Hey, I’ve got an idea—let’s trade.”

  “That’s not really going to help me,” Madeline said.

  “What I meant is, you take my car back to Santa Barbara, and I’ll get yours sold for you.” Madeline stole one of his onion rings while she tried to figure out if he was joking. “It makes sense, if you think about it. I’ve got nothing but time on my hands, and this is a much better market for selling a vehicle like that.” Madeline still wasn’t convinced, nor was she sure she could really trust him with something as important as this.

  “You can trust me,” Mike said, reading her thoughts. “I’m a solid, sober dude now—no booze, no drugs, no money worries, no monkey business.” Madeline took another bite as she weighed the pros and cons of his offer.

  “Do you think you can get a good price for it?”

  “I’ll put it out there and see what kind of responses I get. We already know what the Kelley Blue Book is on it.”

  “How does it run?” Madeline asked of the Mercedes. She said this out of due diligence, but judging from the exterior, it had probably been babied the past fifty years.

  “Like an elegant racehorse with nothing to prove.” Madeline smirked at the analogy. If there was anyone who knew racehorses, it was him. “Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I checked out what the Benz would fetch—just out of curiosity—and it was significantly more than you could get for yours.”

  “Really?”

  “About thirty-five grand more.” Madeline took another look at Mike’s eye-catching car.

  “Are you sure you want to loan it to me?”

  “Sure. I know where you live…actually, that’s not true anymore. Where are you going to be living, now that Steven’s given you the boot?” Madeline groaned and dropped what was left of her sandwich.

  “Oh shit,” she murmured, shaking her head in disbelief. She filled Mike in on Steven’s rotten stunt that cost her the vacation rental.

  “Unbelievable. That guy’s a psycho. Forget the car trade—I’m going back with you.”

  “What? Why? No,” Madeline said adamantly.

  “Then you’re not going back,” Mike said, snagging the last onion ring as Madeline made a move for it.

  “I have to go back, Mike. I’ve got to join the gym so I have an anonymous place to meet the private investigator. Plus, I’ve got a committee meeting at seven. Oh, God—I’m dreading that. And I’ve got to meet the movers at nine tomorrow morning to get all my stuff out of the house before Steven returns.”

  “I can’t believe that asshole is forcing you to move out.”

  “There’s no way I could stay in the same house with him, not after all the crap he’s pulled on me. He told me I could stay at the beach house until the divorce is final.”

  “That was big of him.”

  “But I’m not going to. My P.I. thinks it’s probably bugged.” Mike huffed. Madeline could feel his body tense beside her. She looked up at him and saw the muscles in his jaw quiver. In the old days, this was the only warning before he threw a fit of rage. She put her hand on his arm.

  “It’s okay, Mike,” she said, trying to calm him.

  “Bullshit!” he snapped. “Nothing about this situation is okay,” he said. He wiped his mouth with the paper napkin and tossed it on his empty plate.

  “I don’t want you to get upset,” she said.

  “Too late for that,” Mike replied. “Look, I’m not going to rip the table from the wall or anything like that,” he said, modulating his tone for her sake. “But you can’t expect me not to harbor thoughts of tearing that tight-assed sadist into little pieces.”

  “That makes two of us.” Mike grunted and shook his head.

  “Maddie, God knows I was no angel when we were together, but the number Steven’s doing on you is beyond sadistic. It’s criminal, probably on many levels.”

  “I know, I know…”

  “Did your attorney talk about pressing charges against him?”

  “Yes, but we have to prove he’s behind the photos—and the drugging, and the…” Madeline let out a long, sad sigh. Mike gave her hand a squeeze. When she smiled to reassure him, she saw his eyes were blurry with tears. She held his hand tighter and turned toward the window. Seeing a meter maid pass in front of the restaurant made her aware that time was ticking away.

  “I should get going,” she said, reaching for her wallet. Mike gave her a stony look as he took a money clip from his pants pocket. Madeline had to laugh.

  “Another part of your
inheritance?” Mike proudly displayed the 14 karat gold dollar sign that held a fat wad of cash.

  “Classic Milton Delaney,” he said, taking a twenty and a ten out for the bill. “I’m telling you, the guy was stylin’ all the way.” They both laughed. The waitress laid a ticket on the table and cleared their plates. Mike took a quick look at it and laid the cash on top of it.

  “So, what’s the plan? Do you want me to try to sell your bitchin’ wheels for you?” Madeline looked out the window as she followed Mike out of the booth.

  “I guess that makes the most sense. Thanks for offering.” He put his arm around her and led her out into the harsh afternoon glare.

  EIGHTEEN

  Madeline made it back to the fitness club ten minutes to four. Luckily for her, the traffic through L.A. hadn’t been at a standstill yet. She grabbed the bag with her workout clothes and raced up the steps. She breathlessly told the young man at the counter she wanted to become a member. He looked up at the clock, excused himself and bounded down the hallway to a door marked Employees Only.

  A couple of anxious minutes later, he emerged with a woman in her mid-thirties. Though she wasn’t snarling, Madeline could tell she wasn’t happy with the prospect of staying beyond her shift.

  “Hi,” Madeline said as the woman walked around to the back of the counter. “I know you leave at four, so I’ll make this as easy as possible. I’ve already had the tour and I know what kind of membership I want.”

  “Fantastic,” the woman said, her mood brightening as she slid an application across the counter. “All I need is for you to fill this out, and then I’ll need to photocopy a picture I.D. and a credit card to keep on file. You can pay your monthly dues by check or credit card, but we need to open a house account for incidentals.”

  “That’s fine,” Madeline replied as she filled out the form. She went ahead and used the Park Lane address so there wouldn’t be any discrepancy with the driver’s license. The last thing she wanted to do was explain her twisted state of affairs. Because no charges would be put through, she gave her the “hot” Visa card to match her other ID. She’d give them a new card number and address later. It hit her how dubious her once upstanding life had now become.

  As Madeline was waiting for the woman to return from the back room, she glanced around the club. It was much quieter than it had been in the morning, as Burt said it would be. She was putting her cards back in her wallet when the front door opened, letting in a gust of cool air.

  At first Madeline couldn’t tell that the man entering—backlit as he was by the low-slung sun—was the man she had arranged to meet. For one thing, his hair was dark brown, as opposed to Burt’s black turned mostly grey. Dark sunglasses obscured his eyes. But when he took them off and winked at her, she realized it was him, incognito. She clamped her lips together to keep from laughing as the wig-topped P.I. passed behind her and down the ramp toward the locker rooms.

  When Madeline entered the gym, there was only one other person using the equipment besides Burt. By the layout and the direction the woman was moving, she figured they’d be alone in the room before too long. Burt looked at Madeline casually as she walked to the first machine in the rotation and went about adjusting the weights down from where Burt—who appeared much more fit in tank top and shorts—had them.

  As soon as the woman left the room, Burt got up from the weightlifting bench and sauntered over to Madeline with the pretense of showing her the proper technique for doing the lat pulldown bar.

  “How’s it going?” he asked.

  “Okay, I guess. I think I found the right attorney.”

  “That’s good.”

  “How are things going with you?” Out of habit, Burt surveyed the room before replying.

  “Good. I now know where your husband is staying in Boston.” Madeline eased the weights down and let go of the bar. “My source was able to trace him to the limousine service he used from the airport. He was dropped off at a house in Beacon Hill, 141 Chestnut Street. A title search of the property shows it’s owned by Elizabeth Collins-Wainwright. Ring any bells?”

  “No,” Madeline said, a sudden weak and dizzy sensation coming over her.

  “I did a search online and found quite a bit of info. Her name and picture came up in connection with many social events, as well as the gossip columns. It seems her real claim to fame came with her marriage to husband number two—Logan Wainwright III. The Wainwrights are an old Boston family going way back. They were married just shy of three years. She received an undisclosed settlement, but everyone my contact spoke to said it had to be in the eight figures. Just before I left the office, my source emailed me photos of Mrs. Collins-Wainwright and your husband leaving the Chestnut Street house.”

  Madeline listened to this report with a look of astonishment on her face. Inside, her mind was suffering a series of mild shockwaves, making her feel as though she was bouncing through space. After all she had been put through in the last week, she would’ve thought it impossible to be surprised by anything Steven did. His latest act of treachery hurt her in a way she didn’t think was possible at this stage. But the thought of Steven with another woman made her feel completely wretched—unloved, discarded and replaced.

  How bloody convenient for him, she thought bitterly, tears stinging her eyes. But she was too angry to cry. What she wanted to do was scream at the top of her lungs and slug something or someone very hard.

  Two men entered the gym, forcing Madeline and Burt to relocate separately. Madeline found a new machine and was taking her aggressions out on it in the most punishing way. As the newcomers struck up a conversation, Burt decided it was safe enough to talk to Madeline without being overheard.

  “I’m sorry about dropping that bomb on you. It’s never easy to tell someone they’ve got a cheating spouse, even in a situation like this.” Madeline acknowledged his apology with a slight nod. She executed a few more leg lifts, then gave up, letting the weights clank loudly as they hit the stack. She slid off the machine on wobbly legs and cracked open a bottle of water. She observed Burt out of the corner of her eye while she drank.

  “Even though finding out he deceived you doesn’t constitute proof that he set you up at The Edgecliff, it does give us some clues to work with,” Burt continued, undeterred by his client’s reaction to his report.

  “What kind of clues?” she asked. The only clue she’d gotten was how deaf, dumb and blind she’d been where her husband was concerned.

  “I don’t think it’s a coincidence that he ‘received’ incriminating pictures of you the same week he lies about having a business meeting in Dallas. I think he orchestrated every detail of this scenario. The only question in my mind is why did he decide he no longer wanted to be married to you?”

  As the two men had advanced their way through the various exercise machines and were now within hearing range, Burt led Madeline over to the far side of the room, where there were padded mats for floor exercises.

  “I’ll show you a good exercise for your abs,” Burt said, motioning for Madeline to lie down on the mat next to him. “Now, if a man has a beautiful, charming wife who is not only a good companion but a business asset as well, what reason would he have for suddenly wanting to be rid of her?” Burt posed hypothetically. “It really comes down to three things—sex, money and children.” Madeline stopped mimicking his movements and sat up.

  “I think I hit a nerve,” Burt surmised between crunches. Madeline glanced around the room, the muscles along her jaw and neck tightening as she wrestled with some unseen demon.

  “We’ve been ‘officially’ trying to get pregnant for three years,” she finally admitted. Burt sat up, giving her his full attention. “We tried in-vitro four times. I actually carried a pregnancy halfway through the second trimester, but lost it.” Burt let his head drop. Madeline could tell, despite his line of work, that Burt didn�
��t relish learning all the gritty details of a failed marriage.

  “Did you officially stop trying?” he asked after a respectful pause. Madeline shook her head.

  “No. I’ve been chasing one weird treatment after another. So far, nothing has worked.”

  “Who was more anxious to have children, you or Steven?” Madeline arched her brows as she considered this.

  “I always thought of it as a mutual quest,” she said, looking inward. “But thinking back, having an heir has always been something Steven thought a great deal about. When I failed to become pregnant by the time I was thirty-seven, we started seeing fertility specialists.”

  “So, would you say that not having children with you would be reason enough for Steven to start looking elsewhere?”

  Madeline let out a heavy sigh—part contemptuous, part bemused. “You might be asking the wrong person. Apparently I don’t really know much about the man I married.” Madeline took stock of the growing crowd. Burt was on the same wavelength. He helped her to her feet.

  “Time for a change of venue,” he said, looking at his watch. “I think this would be a perfect time to take a stroll on the Douglas Preserve. You know how to get there?” Madeline nodded. “Let’s meet there in fifteen minutes. Park by the main entrance. I’ll meet you as you come into the park.”

  NINETEEN

  The sun was just setting as Madeline pulled into the Douglas Family Preserve parking lot. She was grateful Mike had put the top up on the Mercedes, as the late afternoon air had lost all its warmth. The park was mostly in shade, except for the slanted rays emanating from the horizon. Madeline pulled her sweater tightly around her as she walked straight into the breeze coming off the ocean.