She was aware of a gnawing in her stomach, a reminder she hadn’t eaten anything since morning. She needed to eat, but she couldn’t stand the thought of food. Or eating take-out, or sitting by herself in a restaurant. She needed to find a place to live so she could at least feel somewhat grounded. She needed to sell her car. She needed to call Mike and see how that was progressing. She needed to do many things, but all she really wanted to do was kill Steven.
A strong desire to drive to her former home and confront her future ex with everything she knew—the payoff to Barnett, the surreptitious trip to Boston, and the missing necklace and earrings—was powerful enough to set her in motion. She started the car and headed out the parking lot, a heady steam of anger making her drive Mike’s stately old car like her road-hungry Porsche.
As she tore down the open road, a string of avenging curses made her adrenalin pump. Oh, it would be so satisfying to expose his heinous deeds in front of the staff, she thought gleefully. They deserve to know the truth about their employer. But it might be more satisfying to sneak onto the property, take a shovel from the gardener’s shed and bash his rotten brains out.
A thought occurred to her that almost made her choke: what if Steven had already ensconced his new love interest in the house? What if she got there and broke up some revolting scene of domestic bliss? After she recovered from the shock of that possibility, her fury returned, fanned by the outrage she had been too off-kilter to acknowledge. But wouldn’t that make the confrontation that much more fulfilling? A malicious smile worked at the corners of her mouth as she envisioned giving the next Mrs. Steven Ridley a rundown on her suitor’s marital history.
But as she exited the freeway and drove up San Ysidro Road, passing all the familiar streets, home to many friends and acquaintances, her anger deflated, leaving her feeling empty and anguished. She wanted vengeance; she wanted to make Steven answer for all the wrongs he had committed against her. But she couldn’t confront him, not yet. She would only be giving him the satisfaction of unhinging her and giving away any hope of nailing him properly, in a way that would stick.
She turned left onto East Valley Road, away from the direction of their house. Now she moved at a crawl, in a manner more fitting the vehicle and her vanquished frame of mind. She wiped at the slow leak of tears, admonishing herself to stay strong. We’ll get him. With Burt’s help, he will see his day of reckoning, she promised herself.
“I’ve had five calls on the car so far,” Mike said. “One guy offered me $65,000—sight unseen.” Madeline huffed wearily.
“What’d you tell him?” she asked as she picked at the potato salad that came with her club sandwich.
“I told him to piss off. He was probably a dealer, looking to make a quick flip.”
“Five calls—that’s not very many,” Madeline worried.
“The ad’s only been up a few hours. I think we’ll get some good nibbles. What would be the lowest offer you’d take?” Mike asked. Madeline could hear him chewing on the other end of the line. It struck her as mildly comforting that they were having a long-distance meal together. At least it was better than eating alone.
“I don’t know. I’ve had that figure of eighty-seven thou’ in my head, but I’m sure that’s not realistic.”
“No, not in this market. My personal feeling is you’d be lucky to get anything over seventy-five.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Madeline said, getting up to get herself a coke. She marveled at the way her eating habits had gone the way of everything else in her life, namely south. “If you get an offer that high, jump on it. I’m going to need the money.”
“Just remember, I’m a man of means now, so I can help you.”
“I appreciate that,” Madeline said, suppressing a laugh. Who would’ve guessed that Mike Delaney would’ve ended up more financially secure than her?
“Hey, I’ve got an idea—why don’t you come stay with me? I’ve got a really bitchin’ pad—you’d love it. It’s got a separate guest suite, totally styled-out—”
“I’m too whipped to drive down there right now,” Madeline protested.
“I’ll come get you,” Mike offered enthusiastically.
“That won’t work. I’ve got your car, remember?”
“Oh. Well, after we get the Porsche sold, we can fly up and get it. Or better yet, take the train. I’ve always wanted to take the train out of Union Station. Wouldn’t that be fun?” He was so giddy at the prospect, Madeline almost regretted bursting his bubble.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” she said.
“Why not?”
“I’m all strung out here. Most of my stuff is in storage, I need to find a place to live—which I can’t do if I’m down there—”
“Maybe you should look for a place down here. Maybe I can raise the rent on one of my tenants and make them leave. I’m telling you, this place is a gem.”
“Mike, thanks, but I don’t want to live in L.A. I love Santa Barbara.” They sat in frustrated silence for a moment.
“Are you going to be okay, Maddie?”
“Yeah. Eventually. I have a feeling the worst of it isn’t over yet.” Mike huffed angrily.
“What else could that bastard possibly do to top himself?”
“I can’t even let myself go there,” Madeline said, dropping her fork in disgust. “Anyway, I should go…” She felt Mike’s empathy through the phone. And maybe something more, maybe a longing to be with her like in the old days. But those days were in the distant past, never to be repeated.
“Call me, anytime. I mean it, Mad Dawg. I’ll always be here for you. And I’m available to kick some ass—anytime, anyplace.” Madeline laughed, blew a kiss into the phone and disconnected. She sat there, phone dangling from a limp wrist. Inertia was setting in and she didn’t see a way to prevent it. She could think of things to do, but the will to do them was absent.
Her phone vibrated for the umpteenth time, signaling another message. She hit the button and saw the depressing news that she had 113 new emails. She tapped the icon and brought up the list. More poured in as she scanned through the older communiqués. In streamed four red flagged messages from a frantic Jane. She cut to the chase and read the last one first.
Maddie—where the hell are you??? I just left your house. Erma told me you moved out this morning—what the hell??? I ran into Carla—she said you lost your phone, which explains why your number is disconnected. CALL ME!!!!!
Madeline groaned and scanned similar entreaties from Jane. She deleted all the promotional emails as she went along. Not only was she not interested in shopping the latest trends, she no longer had an unlimited credit line at her disposal. She was so relentless with the delete button, she almost deleted a message from Lauren.
Hey, I’m back! Had too much fun!! I called your cell. # out of service. What did I miss? Hope you get this ms. Call me. Lauren
Another wrinkle: what to do about Lauren. Even if she could afford to pay an assistant $2,500 a month, she didn’t need one anymore. But she couldn’t stand the thought of firing her without notice; she’d have to give her a month’s severance pay and try to place her with one of her friends, if anyone would still speak to her once word got around.
She opened her laptop and got online, picking up her search for a place to live. The vacation rental idea was still her best option; it would be her best chance of finding something immediately. It would also give her some flexibility on the departure date, which was important. She had to keep reminding herself that she had an attorney who was being paid to void the prenup. If that happened, she would be entitled to half their assets. That thought made her smile. Then she’d be able to hold her head up high. People would forget all about the breakup of Montecito’s darlings and it would be business as usual. It all came down to finding Steven’s fingerprints, literally
or figuratively. She just hoped Burt was the right guy for the job.
TWENTY-SIX
Madeline awoke to a spectacular sunrise as the sun lit the banks of clouds from underneath, coloring them vibrant hues of rose madder and vermillion. It was a thrilling sight, and for a moment she forgot about her current circumstances. The temporary memory loss was soon filled by a crowd of concerns, all clamoring to be addressed.
In an effort to elude them, she dressed for a run and did an abbreviated stretching routine. The cloud cover made it cooler than the previous day, a reminder that winter wasn’t officially over yet. She zipped up her hoodie and headed for the hills.
Being in motion always made her feel better, as though it were physically possible to outrun her problems. To stretch out the time away from the hotel room, she detoured to one of the downtown coffee houses and had a breakfast of berries and yogurt, a latte and a scone. Afterwards, she meandered down State Street, enjoying the mostly deserted streets. As distant church bells chimed nine o’clock, she turned up Garden Street, heading for the inn. It wasn’t until she was fifty feet from the entrance that she spotted Burt leaning against his car.
“How long have you been waiting for me?” she asked as she got closer.
“About forty minutes. I take it you didn’t have either phone on you.” Madeline came to a stop in front of him. “For safety’s sake, you shouldn’t go out without one.”
“You’re right, I’m sorry. I guess I needed that feeling of complete freedom.”
“Understandable,” Burt allowed. “No skin off my nose. I bill by the hour.” Madeline smirked at this.
“What brings you out so early?”
“I’ve been up for hours, working on your case.” Burt checked his watch. 9:35. “How long will it take for you to change and get ready?” he asked.
“Depends. Where are we going?”
“Back to The Edgecliff. I’ve got another theory I want to check out.”
“In that case, I’m going to need a shower, so give me fifteen,” she said, as she headed toward the lobby.
Madeline parked just up the street from Burt’s car. They had both found spots on the back side of The Edgecliff Hotel.
“So, tell me about this theory of yours,” she said, as she met Burt on the pathway into the hotel grounds.
“First let’s try to retrace your steps again,” he said. When Madeline made no move to follow him, he stopped and regarded her. “It’s okay, Madeline. It’s daylight, I’m by your side. We’re going to approach from a different direction, then retrace our steps, if we need to. But this has to be done. I’ve got to know for sure which room you were in. It’s the only way I’m going to find out who the room was registered to.”
Madeline gave herself two seconds to pull her courage together. It’s like jumping off the high dive, she told herself; the scariest part is the anticipation. She nodded to Burt and fell in behind him. When the path widened, he slowed up until they were in step together.
“Let’s just take this slow. Try to put yourself back in the moment when you made your exit.”
Madeline’s eyes roved from side to side as she searched for anything that might trigger a memory, or a sense of recognition. Burt had been right about one thing: the setting seemed much more benign in the full light of day. The path curved, leading them to the left. If they had continued going straight, they would’ve come to the main building’s garden entrance.
They had walked only a few steps when Madeline grabbed Burt by the arm. They stopped as a feeling came over her, like a body memory. She could barely breathe as she cautiously approached a set of French doors. She turned, pretending to be stepping through them. She scrutinized everything in her path, trying to visualize that morning one week ago. She gasped as she stared down at the pathway, transfixed by a vague recollection.
“What is it?” Burt asked, coming up beside her as she scanned the sidewalk for confirmation of her discovery.
“See the wet mark right here?” she asked, pointing at the arc of damp on the sidewalk. A quick check confirmed that the sprinklers in the other beds nearby did not overshoot their mark. Burt bent down and examined the head. By looking at it he could see that someone had placed a full spray head on the stem instead of a half, probably installed temporarily until they got the right part.
“I remember getting hit with the spray on my bare legs,” Madeline said, staring at the mark on the walkway. “I had my gown hiked up because I was carrying my shoes. The water hit my calves.”
“Good work. Now let’s see if there are any other spots like this on the grounds.”
Like a pair of bloodhounds, they continued on until they reached the sidewalk that ran along the beach road. Finding no other evidence of over-spraying, they reversed direction and walked all the way back to where they had entered the grounds. Other than that one spot, the walkways were dry. To further test Madeline’s story, Burt examined each head in the dry areas to make sure the sun or breeze hadn’t dried up other wet marks.
“Excellent,” Burt said, pulling a grounds map from his pocket as he walked to the wet pavement. “Okay. So, are you sure about which side you came out on?”
“I’m positive.”
“And can you recall for certain how far you had walked before getting sprayed?” Madeline reenacted her departure once again, slowly, as she let the memory guide her.
“Yes, it was right as I rounded this bed, before I passed this other room. I remember because I kind of skittered out of the way and landed in the mud on this side…” They both bent and examined the site. Even after a week and regular waterings, it was still possible to see a distinct print of Madeline’s toes and the ball of her foot. Burt handed the map to her and took out a small camera, making a record of their findings.
“It’s a good piece of evidence, but it doesn’t do anything to link Steven to the setup. But it does give us a specific room number to work with, which helps immensely. With any luck, we’ll get a name to go with the room and date.”
“That’s incredible,” Madeline said. She was tingling with excitement and almost giddy with relief.
“You’d make a pretty good P.I.” Burt kidded her. “You’ve got a good eye for detail.” Madeline laughed.
“I guess that comes from years of planning big events,” she said.
“Don’t knock it. All sorts of people make good investigators. It’s how you apply your own special knowledge of life that matters.” Madeline took this as a compliment.
“So, now what do we do?”
“I’m going back to chat with the front desk. You can go do whatever you want—have brunch, go shopping, or just enjoy the gorgeous day.”
“What I want to do and need to do are two different things. But the first thing I have to do is find a place to live, before my money runs out.”
Madeline had just rounded the front of the Benz when she heard someone call out her name. Her instinct was to pretend she hadn’t heard it and get away from there as soon as possible. But unlocking a car door the old-fashioned way without benefit of remote keyless entry slowed her progress. She kept her head down as the female voice beckoned her again. She had half-convinced herself the unfamiliar car would give her pursuer doubts. She was almost in the driver’s seat when Lauren appeared on her beach cruiser.
“Hey, I thought that was you!” Lauren sang out happily, oblivious to Madeline’s less than welcoming body language.
“Oh, hi there!” Madeline said, managing a fairly convincing look of surprise.
“I wasn’t sure it was you,” Lauren said, all smiles. “I didn’t recognize the car and you didn’t seem to hear me.”
“Sorry, I’m a little distracted right now.”
“I bet! The whole time I was in Cabo I kept thinking how much you must’ve regretted letting me off for a week.”
&nb
sp; “Looks like you had a good time…”
“It was amazing! But I’m back and ready to get to work.” Madeline’s smile froze on her face. She had to tell her assistant the sad reality sometime. Might as well be now.
“Umm…feel like a coffee?”
“Sure.”
“How about The Coffee Bean?”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Lauren said, guiding her bicycle back into the street. “Cool car—is it new?”
“No, it belongs to a friend of mine.”
“Oh, nice,” Lauren replied, not knowing what to make of that answer. The Ridleys had plenty of cars at their disposal. But her curiosity died quickly and was replaced by her old eager-to-please, competent self. “Do you want me to order you a latte, if I beat you there?” she challenged her employer.
“That’d be great. But don’t be so sure you’ll get there before me.”
“Maybe not, but I don’t have to park,” Lauren cried out as she set the clunky bike into motion.
A sinking feeling came over Madeline as she conceded this point with a tentative smile. She had two minutes to figure out how to spin her story and how much to disclose. And figure out how to fire a perfectly good assistant without actually firing her.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Lauren took the news of the Ridley breakup harder than Madeline had expected. To look at her, one would assume she’d just learned that her own parents were getting divorced. She was tearing up, and Madeline regretted telling her the bad news in such a public place. She took a tissue out of her tote and handed it to her. Lauren snuffled into it for a moment before letting loose.
“Lauren, honey, please don’t cry,” Madeline said under her breath. “It’s going to be alright,” she lied. She had expected maybe a quivering bottom lip when she told her that she couldn’t employ her anymore. Now Madeline wasn’t sure she could bring herself to tell her. But she had to; one month’s severance pay was more than she felt comfortable spending at this point as it was.
Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap Page 15