Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap

by Cynthia Hamilton

  As it was a Saturday night in California, it would be a lot to hope for that she’d get a return phone call. Chances were high she wouldn’t hear back from anyone until Monday morning, PST. She’d scope out her options, make some calls, send some emails and wait as patiently as possible. Other than that, she didn’t know what else she could do but think. If she could concentrate hard enough, surely she could grasp the situation from all sides and determine the best course.

  This led her back to the beginning: identifying her objective. What is it I want to accomplish? she asked herself. Well, killing Steven was still at the top of her list of fantasies. But realistically, she knew that would either be impossible or lead to an even more miserable existence.

  So, pragmatically speaking, what did she want? She wanted to find out the truth about Burt’s death and she wanted to nail Steven for setting up her rape. She knew an autopsy would be the starting point for the former. She also knew that if Burt couldn’t get anywhere on the rape, it was unlikely another P.I. could at this point.

  That left her with going to the police with her photos and her story. How likely were they to believe her without Burt’s credibility to back her up? At least he had made an appointment with a detective prior to her leaving for Guam. That was one bit of luck. Now if she could only remember the detective’s name…

  There was still one other avenue of possible recourse, and that was proving Steven had misappropriated borrower and investor funds. This was the money shot, as far as she could determine. Burt had found proof of his embezzlement; all she had to do was find what he had uncovered and take it to the D.A.’s office.

  She let her mind drift back to their conversations. How exactly had Burt traced the breach of fiduciary responsibility? He said he had done a search of properties that listed RAM, L.P. as a lien holder. How did he do that? Madeline drummed her fingertips on the table, coaxing the missing pieces from the fringes of her memory.

  He said that information was available at the County Recorder’s Office, she recalled. But he also said there was a website where he could search for that kind of information. She took another sip from her almost empty cup, pleased she was able to conjure up these valuable timesaving insights. So, the question now was how to find that website.

  As she figured she had many hours of computer work ahead of her, she paid her bill, tipping generously for having been so lavishly accommodated. Her mind was moving into its characteristic tunnel-vision mode. She was on her game and ready to start work.

  She was so focused on her thoughts, she was blindsided by the sudden appearance of her annoying fellow diner from the sushi restaurant.

  “Hey, slow down…” he said affably. “It’s island policy to take it slow,” he said, smiling like he was one of God’s most irresistible creations. Madeline’s face was a stony mask of disinterest. “I sat next to you at the sushi place last night, remember? Paul Jahnke…?”

  “I’m sorry, I’m in a hurry,” Madeline said, waiting impatiently for one of the elevator doors to open.

  “You’re not going back to your room, are you? The fun’s out there,” Paul said, motioning in the general direction of the pools and the beach.

  “I’m not feeling well,” she said, her eyes riveted to the numbers above the elevator doors.

  “Sorry to hear that. Hey, maybe you’d like to give me a jingle later, when you’re feeling better…”

  A ding sounded and a door opened. Madeline scooted down and waited as the passengers left the car. She got in, pressing the “close door” button as fast as she could. She held it down, hoping her new nemesis wouldn’t be able to call the car back by pressing the “up” button. The elevator hesitated. She kept her finger jammed on the button. She heard the sound of another car announcing it was going up. She felt the shifting of pulleys as she began to ascend.

  Once she was on her floor, she walked briskly to her room, slipped inside and deadbolted the door. Fortunately, her room was only three doors down from the elevators. She listened for the ding and the sound of the elevator doors opening, while keeping her eye trained on the peephole. After a few minutes, she relaxed her guard.

  Now that she was safe in her room, she found her paranoia a little silly. But then again, it wasn’t like serious trouble hadn’t been hovering over her for weeks. She had to start going with her gut feelings, now that her hired protector was permanently out of commission, probably because of her.

  She found Paul Jahnke unsettling; maybe he wasn’t just trying to get lucky. Madeline’s adrenaline started pumping as a new fear presented itself. Was it really farfetched to think Steven would go to extreme lengths to frame her, possibly having her P.I. killed, without making sure she kept up her part of the bargain?

  The way she and Burt had reckoned it, clearing a path for the future Mrs. Ridley was of utmost importance. Until Madeline was out of the way, she was a stumbling block to saving Steven’s hide. Maybe it was worth it to him to have an informal babysitter, someone who could keep tabs on her and make sure she fulfilled the residency requirement.

  Madeline sank into a chair as she contemplated this hypothesis. It would certainly be in keeping with his M.O., but Mr. SoCal didn’t really fit the picture. For one thing, she had sat down next to him at the sushi restaurant, not the other way around. She hadn’t made any dinner reservations and even she didn’t know where she was going to eat.

  So, that put Paul Jahnke out of the running as far as spooks went. But she’d been oblivious to her surroundings ever since she arrived. That was not prudent of her. She had to keep her wits about her at all times. And she wasn’t going to sleep until she figured out if someone was watching her every move.

  She looked around the hotel room. How would she know if it had been bugged? She didn’t know the first thing about surveillance devices, except that they could be very tiny and hidden almost anywhere.

  This unnerving thought got her off the sofa. She couldn’t just sit there and be spied on. But what could she do? Oh, Burt—what should I do? She had worked herself into a mild panic now. She had to take some kind of action or she would go mad.

  As casually as she could manage, she went to the closet and assessed her belongings. While ostensibly deciding what to wear, she was calculating what she felt comfortable leaving behind. She had a beach tote that she emptied of beach paraphernalia, replacing it with the pricey shoes still wrapped in their bags, plus all her cashmere sweaters and a pair of jeans.

  She left her boots and the casual stuff—along with everything she had purchased since she got there—in the closet. She took her jewelry roll out of the safe and dropped it in her handbag. She relocked the safe, left enough clothing and personal items lying around—including all of her toiletries and her travel bags—slipped the laptop into the beach tote and grabbed her purse.

  When she emerged from the elevator, she headed straight for the car rental agency at the Nikko Hotel. She rented a Ford Mustang convertible for the remainder of her stay and arranged to drop it off at the airport.

  Once she had everything securely stowed in the trunk, she headed for the duty-free shopping mall. There she purchased replacements for her carry-on bag and cosmetics. She drove down the main road to the larger retail chains and bought toiletries and new tunics, shorts, a bikini, T’s and flip flops.

  Using the map she was given at the car rental agency, she got her bearings and headed for the southern part of the island for a day of sightseeing, which would give her an excellent opportunity to find out if she was being followed.

  FORTY-TWO

  Madeline spent the rest of the day driving around the island, taking in the landmark sights and watching out for any possible tails. She imagined what Burt might do and tried to think proactively, executing sudden turns and doubling back, watching her rearview mirror for any copycats. It was easy to play lost and dumb in an area she’d never been before. Bu
t with all her efforts to trip up potential bad guys, she came to the conclusion none of her fellow travelers cared where she went. This was some comfort, and as she headed back toward Tumon Bay, she relaxed and enjoyed the scenery.

  Though she felt confident she hadn’t been followed, she couldn’t shake the thought of Steven having her hotel room under surveillance. She remembered all too clearly Burt’s concern that both her homes had been bugged in her absence. How difficult could it really be for Steven to hire local talent? She’d already been framed as the cheating spouse and sent to Guam for an expedited dumping. What was to stop him from keeping her under a microscope until she’d completed her part of the bargain? She made a mental note to check online for private investigators on the island, see if she could find one who could at least prove her fears were unfounded.

  The sun had just set as she cruised along Route 14A toward the ocean. When she came to the intersection at San Vitores Road, she turned left instead of right, which would’ve taken her to the Westin. She drove south to the last of the large hotels on the beachside of Tumon Bay, the Guam Hilton.

  When she checked into the Westin, she had used the driver’s license bearing the name Madeline Ridley, the same name that appeared on her airline tickets. Before she went to the car rental agency, she switched that license out for the new one showing her name as Madeline Dawkins. It had been easier than she thought to get a new license in her maiden name, though she had to lie about losing her old one in order to keep it. Getting the new one before her trip was just a stroke of luck. Now, she effectively had two last names, and she was hoping the difference would be enough to keep her off Steven’s radar screen.

  She let the valet take her car and the bellman handle her bags. Instead of checking in, she asked to speak to the hotel manager. As it was a Sunday evening, only the assistant manager was available. So much the better, Madeline thought, as a young, eager-to-please Chamorran woman came out to greet her.

  She had changed her clothing after her shopping binge at the designer duty-free shops, and had added the appropriate amount of tasteful jewelry. She had to strike just the right chord: sympathetic on one hand, sophisticated and moneyed on the other.

  She explained to the assistant manager her desire to check in unregistered, as she was eluding the unwanted attentions of a man who had developed something of an obsession with her. She was only on the island to establish residency for a divorce, and wished to remain as anonymous as possible.

  The AM seemed enthralled by Madeline’s story and was quite eager to accommodate her needs. Madeline further ingratiated herself by requesting the best suite available for three nights, and swore to herself this would be the last of the splurges.

  Once she was escorted to her new temporary lodgings, she was grateful she had opted for the extravagance. This was more her idea of vacationing in a tropical paradise. As nice as the Westin had been, she much preferred the spaciousness of the suite; it made her feel less claustrophobic and less like an exile. The suite was the size of a small apartment, with white shutters framing the views of palm trees and the beach beyond, large comfortable furnishings and an elegantly simple décor.

  She had determined from her research that the Hilton, being older and the furthest away from the shopping and nightlife, was not as popular as the newer hotels closer to the action. It was also six hotels removed from where she was registered. If anyone had been watching her at the Westin, she felt confident they wouldn’t be able to trace her to this location. All she had to do was lie low, which wouldn’t be hard with all the investigation she needed to do.

  Before she tackled the internet, she treated herself to a long soak in the huge granite tub. She then ordered room service. She made another list, this one of her most immediate tasks, while she waited for her dinner to be delivered.

  First on the list: assessing the local P.I. offerings. If Steven did have someone keeping tabs on her, that would be significant. It would confirm that he didn’t take her compliance for granted, and that freeing himself up to remarry was an urgent priority.

  It would also indicate he was more paranoid than she had expected. If her room at the Westin had been bugged, then Steven or his goons would’ve been aware of her reaction to Burt’s untimely death. If anyone in Steven’s employ had been connected to his demise, then it was a pretty sure bet they were aware Burt had been hired to get the dirt on Steven. If they hadn’t put one and one together before, it was likely they had by now.

  If Steven or his associates were responsible for Burt’s death, then they were sure to have searched his office and home for any evidence he might’ve had. There was a tangled web of intrigue waiting for her back in Santa Barbara, and she had to glean as many facts as possible before waltzing back there.

  She ate the delicious dinner of fresh Opah, steamed lemongrass rice and assorted vegetables, but hardly tasted it. Her mind was too preoccupied. She had the worst urge to call Mike, but it was the middle of the night for him. Even if he forgave her, he wouldn’t be sufficiently coherent to be of any use.

  Damn, Madeline thought; she’d have to wait another day and a half until that part of the world was open for business. Fortunately, she’d be able to scope out the local detectives and hopefully retain someone who could check out her room at the Westin for bugging devices. That would be a relief, one way or the other. Either way, she’d learn something about her enemy’s mindset.

  After an hour’s worth of online research, Madeline was finding it harder to suppress the urge to speak to a confederate. It was now two in the morning, Los Angeles time. The old Mike would consider that still early, but she wasn’t sure if the older, more mature Mike would appreciate a call at that hour. More mature Mike? She placed the call. He answered after four rings.

  “Sorry,” Madeline said in response to his groggy hello. “I forgot to call you earlier,” she said, trying to gauge his mood.

  “Yeah, I noticed,” he said. He treated her to a strenuous yawn. “2 a.m.?”

  “I didn’t know if you’d be madder if I called too late or didn’t call at all,” she said.

  “It’s okay. I would’ve freaked out if I’d woken up at a civilized hour and realized I hadn’t heard from you.”

  “That’s what I was betting on. So, I just wanted to let you know I’m alright.”

  “Good. Thanks,” he said, yawning again. One more yawn and he’d be wide awake.

  “I’ll let you get back to sleep.”

  “Wait—are you feeling better?”

  “Yeah, I’m doing okay. Definitely better than earlier. Thanks for being there for me.”

  “My pleasure. You know that.”

  “If we keep talking, you’ll never go back to sleep,” Madeline said, secretly hoping he wouldn’t care. “I didn’t interrupt anything, did I?” Mike chuckled.

  “Why don’t you just come out and ask if I’m sleeping with someone?”

  “It’s none of my business.”

  “You sure act like it is.”

  “I did something kind of crazy today,” Madeline said, ignoring his last remark. It was rather selfish of her, but she knew Mike couldn’t resist confessions.

  “You, something crazy? I don’t believe it.”

  “I rented a car and took a drive around the island.”

  “Yeah?” Mike said, clearly disappointed.

  “I left the hotel I was staying at, leaving most of my stuff behind. Then, after I was sure no one was following me, I checked into another hotel, away from the crowds, and far enough away from the other hotel to throw someone off the scent.” She could hear rustling on Mike’s end as he got out of bed.

  “Did anything trigger this wacky bit of subterfuge?”

  “I guess I just got spooked. There was a guy who kept popping up…I think he was probably just a guy on the make, but it got me to thinking about how vulnerabl
e I am…was…”

  “That settles it. I’m getting on a plane and I’m coming to get you,” Mike said.

  “No, you’re not. I shouldn’t have called you. I should’ve let you sleep.”

  “Why did you call?” Madeline was caught off guard by the tone in his voice. “You called me knowing I was probably cutting Z’s. You’re scared, and it sounds like you have every reason to be. I’m coming to get you and I won’t take no for an answer.” Madeline held her forehead with the palm of her hand. She’d really done it this time.

  “You’re right about one thing—I was scared. But I’m not anymore. I was able to check into this hotel on the sly, and as far as the rest of the world knows, I’m still staying at the Westin. I’m going to hire a local gumshoe tomorrow and have him check out that room, just to put my mind at rest. If he doesn’t find any bugs, then I’ve let my imagination get the best of me. So, see—there’s nothing to worry about. I’m fine.”

  “Looks like I can still catch the 8:26 flight, which is only a few hours from now.”

  “Mike, didn’t you hear me? I said I’m fine. I should’ve never called you so late. You’re in a susceptible state of mind right now and you think you need to come and rescue me. It’s my fault. I’m sorry. But please, Mike—do not do anything stupid like getting on a plane to Guam. Really. I mean it—I don’t want you to come. I need to do some heavy-duty thinking and I can’t do that if I’m worrying about you worrying about me.”

  “Sorry, faulty logic. I’m not buying it.”

  “What can I say to make you change your mind?” Madeline asked.

  “You sound like a hostage negotiator.”

  “C’mon, Mikey—”

  “Don’t “Mikey” me,” Mike said testily.