Cynthia Hamilton - Madeline Dawkins 01 - Spouse Trap

by Cynthia Hamilton

  After checking in, she drove to the back of the motel complex and parked in the last slot, directly across from her room. She took her luggage in, but didn’t bother to unpack. In two short weeks, she had turned into a transient, likely to be on the move from one day to the next. It was an odd lifestyle for her, but with all that was required of her to stay one step ahead of Steven, she didn’t mind being ready to relocate at a moment’s notice. She only hoped her vagabond days would come to an end soon.

  Her current digs didn’t offer much in the way of amenities or furniture. She pulled the only chair up to the bed and laid her paperwork out in front of her. She checked the time: 1:45. She studied the data she had printed in the executive lounge during her stopover in Hawaii.

  Though she didn’t have the benefit of knowing what site Burt had gleaned his information from, she was able to locate several sites online that provided what she needed. She had been able to search for all outstanding first and second trust deeds held by RAM, L.P. What she had netted was 67 names, with addresses, amount owed, and the date the liens were filed.

  As she went over the data again, she tried to get her head around exactly what she should being doing with this information. She sat, arms across her chest, as she broke down her quest into basic components.

  Burt had suspected Steven of receiving payoffs on some of these loans without returning the funds to the investor coffers. Blind pools, Madeline recalled from the dinners Steven had regularly used to ensnare new investors. Okay, that part made sense.

  So, by not returning the proceeds from the payoffs to the pool, Steven had defrauded his investors, whom he had a fiduciary responsibility to protect. But the reason no one caught on was because Steven’s firm continued to service these paid-off loans, sending monthly interest checks on whatever was supposedly still loaned out from the blind pools…

  And, at the same time, Steven had not removed the liens on certain properties RAM, L.P. had financed, which meant some of the borrowers were also defrauded because the repayment of their loans was not recorded. Their payoffs had found their way into Steven’s pockets instead. In other words, the deeds of trust had not been reconveyed and their properties were still encumbered.

  What all this amounted to was embezzlement and fraud, both crimes that could strip RAM, L.P. of their licenses to do business, open them up to huge lawsuits from investors and borrowers, and hopefully send Steven to prison for many years.

  Madeline nodded, a smile breaking across her face. Now I understand why Burt was so eager to go after this angle. There were real smoking guns somewhere in this list of data, and Burt had found at least five of them. All she would have to do is find out which of these borrowers had been swindled. And to do that, she would need to compare the list of outstanding liens with the actual deeds of trust filed against each property, then contact each borrower to learn which ones had paid off their loans.

  Madeline rubbed her aching neck. She had flown through so many time zones, her body didn’t know the difference between day and night. She felt fatigue seeping into her brain and muscles, but she couldn’t give into it yet. The task ahead of her was daunting, but she didn’t have the luxury of putting it off until tomorrow, or whenever she woke up. She’d pick up a coffee on her way to the courthouse and worry about sleep later.

  For now, she had to work at the art of disguise. She opened the two wig boxes, laughing at her purchases. On one hand, it was kind of a charge to don a different persona. On the other hand, it felt rather ridiculous.

  She held the two wig forms beside her head and tried to decide which one was better suited for a day at the courthouse. She opted for the blond; it was less dramatic and benign enough for dealing with civil servants. She pinned her hair up and secured the hairpiece, fluffing and styling it with her fingertips.

  As she regarded herself in the mirror, images of a bewigged Burt flashed across her mind. She let out a huff, both sad and amused. Maybe Burt was coaching her from the great beyond. She wanted to think so, and not just because she needed the help. What she really wanted from Burt was forgiveness for getting him into this mess and getting him killed.

  She shook off the reverie with effort and took the makeup she had bought out of its plastic packaging, and began to alter her appearance with a few well-placed dabs and streaks of color. She applied a nearly-nude shade of lipstick and stood back. It was good, but the clothes and jewelry had to go.

  Once she had dressed and accessorized herself beyond all recognition, she took the essentials out of her big tote and put them in the decidedly inferior handbag she had bought earlier. She added the pages of borrower information, stood on the bed to check herself out from head to toe, and seized what was left of the day.

  Madeline finished her coffee and dropped the cup in the trash can in front of the public library. When traffic permitted, she crossed in the middle of the street, heading for the recorder’s office. She found the window she wanted behind a line three deep. She took her place behind the others and listened for clues on how to ask for what she needed.

  After waiting in line for ten minutes without advancing, Madeline began pondering the likelihood of getting all the records she wanted before the office closed. It was already 3:15. From what she had observed, requested files came in small batches. She could just about imagine giving the clerk heart failure with a request for the deeds of trust on 67 properties.

  So far, the man at the front of the line had asked for items individually, which was why it was taking so long. There were two others ahead of her whom she could watch and gather more about the protocol. Maybe today would have to be spent learning the proper procedure for looking at files in bulk. She didn’t like the thought of having wasted a day. It gave her a knot in her stomach.

  At 3:45, Madeline was giving up hope of even speaking to the clerk. There were other windows where the lines moved along more quickly, but she was apparently at the only one where she could get what she’d come for. Another person came through the door and groaned at the line. He checked his watch and left.

  “Does it usually take this long to get information?” Madeline asked the woman ahead of her.

  “It depends. The guy in the front seems to be asking for a lot of files.” Madeline smiled grimly and reevaluated her plan.

  After all she had gone through to get back to Santa Barbara early, she was aggravated to have her plans thwarted by bad timing. She reprimanded herself for wasting precious time shopping for disguises. She started to fret in earnest that she’d lost the chance to get the proof she needed. Suddenly, a fragment of the last conversation with Burt came back to her.

  “Seeing as you’re stuck in Guam for several more days, I’ll put their statements in a safe place.” Madeline froze at the recollection. Burt had already done all this leg work. He had personally gotten copies of all outstanding liens held by RAM, L.P. What she was embarking on would be duplicating steps Burt had already taken. What she really needed to be doing was looking for Burt’s safe place—provided he’d had enough time to cache the borrowers’ statements before he plummeted into the ocean.

  Madeline swore under her breath as the line refused to move. Part of her believed the most prudent course of action would be to complete this process, take a look at the trust deeds with her own eyes, and track down the individuals who had been duped. The other part of her was all for getting the hell out of there and start searching for Burt’s hiding place.

  There was a distinct problem with the current game plan: somewhere in the process of uncovering Steven’s illegal doings, Burt had set off an alarm that had gotten him killed. If she went through the same steps, she could trip the same wire. The man at the counter finally stepped away and she inched forward.

  But ditching this avenue in favor of speeding the process along and keeping her neck out of the noose also had its drawbacks, namely, where to start looking. The obvious answer
was Burt’s office, which was only three blocks away. She tuned into the scene ahead of her, and sensing another protracted exchange, switched to plan B.

  FIFTY-THREE

  Madeline crossed behind a passing car in the middle of Figueroa Street. Now that she had abandoned her first plan, she began to see the likely obstacles of her new tactic. For one thing, how would she get into Burt’s office? It would be locked, and if the coroner’s report had come back showing anything but accidental death by drowning, there could be police tape across the door.

  It would be too much to hope that Burt had given a spare key to one of his neighbors in the building. Besides, why would they give it to her? Even if the office wasn’t cordoned off, she had left her lock picks in her other bag.

  Ha, ha, Madeline thought drolly as she crossed State Street on a yellow light. Her mind raced ahead, desperately hoping to come up with a plan C. She was within 30 feet of the staircase to Burt’s building when she spotted the “Space Available” sign posted above the mailboxes.

  Her heart raced in tandem with her feet as another possibility occurred to her. She needed an office space if she were going to start her event planning business… It was a good pretext, anyway. She got out her iPhone and entered the number on the sign. As she waited for someone to answer, she climbed the stairs to make sure there were no other vacancies in the building. All the other offices were still doing business as usual.

  She got a recorded message and hung up as she continued down the hallway. The door to Burt’s office was open and she could make out the low timbre of voices, barely audible over the pounding of blood in her ears. For one split second, Madeline thought the reports of Burt’s death had been a ruse, planted to throw his pursuers off the trail. But as she reached the doorway, that desperate hope vanished.

  There were two men in the outer room of Burt’s office, one in his late-sixties and one in his mid-twenties. Both looked her direction as she came to a halt at the threshold. The hallway ended after Burt’s office and the one across from it. She could either execute an about-face or inquire about the office for rent. She chose the latter.

  “Excuse me,” she said, stepping one foot into the office as she held onto the door frame, “is this the office advertised on the sign outside?” She smiled hopefully as she used her powers of observation to read the scene in front of her.

  “It is,” the older man said. “I’ll be with you in a moment, if you want to wait.”

  “Oh, sure,” Madeline said, smiling again as she backed out of the room and away from the door. She stood in the hall, back against the wall as she strained to hear what the two men were talking about. Unfortunately, their voices had dropped and she could only pick up a word here and there. But as they walked closer to the doorway, she got the distinct impression the younger man wasn’t there about the space for lease.

  Madeline was putting together another possible scenario as the men crossed the threshold, continuing their conversation just outside the office. She abruptly feigned interest in her cell phone, but not before catching a good look at the younger man. A chill ran down her spine as recognition hit home. There was too strong a resemblance for him not to be Burt’s son.

  “Okay, I’ll look into renting a truck,” the young man said. It was clear to Madeline that he was struggling with the added burden of taking care of his father’s affairs on top of dealing with his sudden demise.

  “The closest U-Haul is on upper State,” the older man suggested.

  “Thanks. I’ll let you know when I’ve gotten everything out.” With that, the men shook hands. The landlord placed his hand on the other’s shoulder, as though he wished to say something else. After a moment’s pause, he patted Burt’s son on the arm. The young man gave him a rueful smile and, with head down, walked passed Madeline, in the direction of the stairs.

  “Poor kid,” the landlord said to no one in particular.

  “If this is a bad time, I can come back later…” Madeline said. The man cocked his head toward the office as an invitation to enter.

  “Max Howard,” he said as Madeline approached the doorway.

  “Madeline Dawkins. Nice to meet you.” Mr. Howard extended his arm and Madeline passed into the front office.

  “How big a space are you looking for?” the landlord asked.

  “Uh…oh, about…500 square feet,” she hedged.

  “This is 520. It’s got this reception area, the inner office, a kitchen area and a bathroom.” Madeline nodded appreciatively as she gave herself the tour. The inner office she already knew about; the small kitchen area and the bathroom were a bonus. But what she cared about most were the desks and file cabinets.

  “What line of work are you in?” Madeline spun around, wishing she wasn’t dressed like an office staffer.

  “Event planning,” she said as she reached into her bag, pretending to look for a business card that didn’t exist. “I think I just gave my last card away.” Max didn’t seem too concerned. “What are you asking?”

  “It’s $2.80 a foot. That comes to $1,456 a month.” Madeline arched her brows reflexively.

  “Hmm…seems a little steep,” she said as she made a closer inspection of the premises.

  “It’s downtown Santa Barbara with a State Street address. Ample public parking in the back. The unit comes with one parking space. Trash and common area cleaning are included. Renter pays utilities,” Max said, arms folded across his chest, his manner pleasant but aloof, as if he could show his rental property in his sleep.

  “I take it you’re the owner,” Madeline said. Max nodded.

  “Bought it in ’74. I won’t tell you what I paid for it.” Madeline smiled.

  “Have you shown it to anyone else?”

  “Just hung the sign on my way up.” Madeline went through the pretense of examining the space more thoroughly.

  “How long a lease are you offering?” she asked.

  “Two year minimum, with three two-year options.” Madeline mulled this over. Her acquired propensity toward extravagance was starting to alarm her. She used to be so careful with money before she met Steven. And all she really wanted was a chance to go through every file in Burt’s drawers.

  “Would you be willing to come down to an even $1,400 a month if I paid a year in advance?” Max’s expression barely changed as he considered the offer. But Madeline had seen the brief flicker in his eyes.

  “I’m going to need references,” he said.

  “No problem.” Madeline reached over the desk she had sat at on her first meeting with Burt and used one of his pens to write down the name and number of her bank manager.

  “Charlene will be able to verify my liquid assets on deposit. Now about this furniture…”

  “The kid who just left is coming back to get it.”

  “Oh…too bad,” Madeline said, her face clouding over. “So that young man was the former tenant?”

  “No. His father was. Passed away unexpectedly.”

  “Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that,” Madeline said, adjusting her tone.

  “I’d known Burt Latham for twenty years, before he started renting from me,” Max said, his eyes focused on the window. “The kid hadn’t seen his old man in a couple of years.” Max let out a soft snort. “Anyway, he’s agreed to get all this stuff out of here by Friday.”

  “So, the son doesn’t really have any use for the furnishings?” Max shook his head.

  “No. He lives up in Seattle. He’s going to try to sell this stuff at a garage sale he’s having this weekend. I don’t envy him having to take care of matters like this. It’s extra difficult because of the rift between them…”

  “What if I took the furniture off his hands, save him the trouble of hauling it away? I’ll pay him whatever’s fair. Think he’d be okay with that? It would suit me fine for now. I’m so busy with w
ork right at the moment, I don’t have time to redecorate, and all my stuff is too large for this space.” Madeline gave Max a moment to digest the offer.

  “I think he’d be relieved. I’ll give him a call.”

  “Great. How soon can I sign the lease?” Madeline asked, checkbook in hand. Max smiled slyly as he sized her up.

  “What’s the name of your company?” he asked, settling into a semi-relaxed stance, arms crossed, feet apart, head slightly cocked. Madeline didn’t miss a beat.

  “Current Affairs, Event Planning,” she said matter-of-factly. Max nodded his approval.

  “Like the name. Can’t say I’ve heard of it, though. How long have you been in business?”

  “Oh, I’ve been doing this for years,” Madeline said with a weary wave of her hand. “I’ve done everything from intimate dinners to parties of 800 guests.” Because she was telling the truth about that, she didn’t seem to set off Max’s bullshit detector. “So, if it’s available now, I’d like to take it over right away,” she said, all business.

  “The rent was paid through tomorrow, but I guess that doesn’t matter at this point.”

  “Great,” Madeline said as she took another look around. “I can get new business cards ordered and have the computer and phone systems set up without missing a beat. I’m ready to make it official, if you are.”

  FIFTY-FOUR

  Max Howard ran his small real estate empire from a building two blocks further down State Street. Madeline wrote him a check for $16,800 and Max filled out the lease. Madeline managed to drop enough big names to cool her new landlord’s desire for other references. Charlene had verified that Ms. Dawkins had “deposits in the mid-six figures,” which seemed to allay Max’s fear that she might be a deadbeat.

  After signing the rental agreement, Max gave Madeline a set of keys, one to open the gate leading to the stairwell that was locked after 6 p.m., and one for the office itself. Burt’s son was relieved that he didn’t have to deal with clearing out his dad’s furniture, so Madeline was welcome to take possession immediately, which she did as soon as she left Max’s office.