The Other Woman: A psychological suspense thriller

by N L Hinkens

  “Mom!”

  She swung around at the sound of her son’s voice, hopeful for one split second that she’d see Harper at his side.

  “Any sign of her?” Henry yelled, jogging up to her.

  She shook her head, watching disappointment leak into his face. “She has to be close by. She can’t have gone far. We’ll keep looking.”

  “Grandpa’s checking with the neighbors,” Henry said. “I’ll scout around the places she used to play hide and go seek. Maybe she's holed up somewhere.”

  Bridget gave a distracted nod. She cleared her throat trying to keep her voice from wavering. “Good idea.” She didn't want Henry to realize the depth of her panic. But Harper couldn't simply have vanished into thin air. Someone might have recognized her as Steve’s daughter—some crazy vigilante who’d possibly decided to hold her hostage until Steve turned himself in.

  “Mom,” Henry said, suddenly grabbing her by the arms. “It's going to be all right.”

  Instantly, Bridget's eyes pooled with tears. She sniffed and fished out a tissue. Evidently, she wasn’t fooling him.

  He pulled her into a clumsy hug and then released her. “I’ll find her, I promise.” He turned and broke into a jog, wheeling down a side street up ahead.

  Bridget shivered as she watched him disappear. What if something happened to Henry too? She shook her head free of the disturbing thought. No one was going to snatch a young, six-foot-two male in broad daylight. She needed to get a grip and keep her focus on finding her daughter, instead of speculating on grim scenarios that hadn’t transpired. Every minute Harper was missing increased the danger of something happening to her.

  “Excuse me!” Bridget called to an elderly woman kneeling in her front yard.

  When the woman didn't respond, Bridget opened the wrought-iron gate at the end of the pathway and walked up to her. “Excuse me,” she gasped. “Have you seen a little girl, seven-years-old, with a silver-and-teal backpack?”

  The woman glanced up, a confused look in her rheumy eyes. She brushed a strand of silver hair behind her ear, exposing a hearing aid, and shook her head. “I haven't seen any children. Aren’t they all in school this time of day?”

  Bridget grimaced. Another stark reminder that this was no ordinary day in her kids’ lives. They weren’t in school this morning because the media had just announced to the world that their father was a killer on the run. Not that she was about to explain all that to a frail, elderly woman whose only concern was the weeds in her flowerbeds. Bridget thanked her and moved on, feeling as if she was operating in some other dimension. Was this really happening? Was her daughter actually missing now too?

  Her flustered thoughts flew in circles as she continued her search through the entire neighborhood, half-jogging at times, sweat gathering in her armpits and beneath her collar. Anger boiled in her gut that Steve wasn't here to help her. She needed him now more than ever. Their young daughter had vanished, and he was nowhere to be found. How could he have done this to her—left her with only a pathetic hand-scrawled note? I’m sorry. He wasn't sorry, he was only sorry he’d been caught. He wasn't sorry about what his actions had prompted his son to do. He wasn't sorry about the shame his family was facing, or how Harper was being bullied at school. If he was sorry, he would have been here for them.

  Bridget scrunched her eyes shut. What if she never saw her daughter again? This was an unbearable twist in an already unspeakable nightmare. She came to a sudden halt and grabbed an iron railing for support. Her mind flailed this way and that, trying to think of what to do next. She needed help. If Steve wasn’t available, she’d have to call on someone who was.

  After a moment’s thought, she dug out her phone and scrolled through her contacts for Detective Wright’s number. He would know what to do. He could figure out if Harper’s disappearance was connected to the case or not. With trembling fingers, she dialed the number and pressed the phone to her ear. Her voice stuck in her throat when he answered.

  “Hi … it's Bridget … Hartman. Harper’s missing. I don't know what to do. I … I’m afraid someone might have taken her … we can’t find her anywhere.”

  “Okay, slow down,” Detective Wright said. “Where are you?”

  “At my parents’ place. We're canvassing the neighborhood trying to find her. My dad's knocking on doors. Henry's out here too looking for her. I’m so afraid—“ She trailed off, swallowing back a despairing sob.

  “How long has she been missing?” Detective Wright inquired.

  “At least an hour. She was sleeping in the guest bedroom when Henry and I left to go down to the station. I went to check on her when we got back, and she wasn’t there. She must have slipped out of the house. My parents are elderly, and with the television on, they wouldn’t have heard her opening the door.”

  She scrunched her eyes shut as another thought hit. What if the police went after her parents for negligence? Maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned the fact that she’d left Harper alone with them. Things were going from bad to worse. But she couldn't think about any more dire scenarios now. The important thing was to find Harper.

  “Can you give me a description of what she was wearing?” Detective Wright asked.

  Bridget swallowed the lump in her throat. He was taking this seriously, which was both good and bad at the same time. Apparently, he agreed with her that Harper might be in danger. “A white sweater with a puppy on the front. Pink jeans. Tennis shoes, and I think she took her backpack. It's silver and teal.”

  “All right I'm going to put out a BOLO. I'll send an officer your way. He’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  “Thank you.” Bridget slid the phone back into her pocket and picked up her pace. She wasn't going to stand around and do nothing while she waited on the officer to make an appearance. A middle-aged man walking two menacing-looking muzzled dogs approached on the other side of the street. She waved frantically and darted across to him. “Excuse me, have you seen a little girl walking along here? Seven-years-old with a backpack.”

  The man scowled and shook his head, barely breaking pace. Bridget clenched her hands into fists. How could people be so unfeeling? Wasn't her distress obvious? Then again, he probably thought she was just some overprotective mother. He wasn’t to know the girl’s father was an alleged killer on the run and that she might have been abducted.

  Bridget crossed back to the other side of the street and continued searching in front yards and behind parked vehicles in driveways and along the curb. She didn’t waste time stopping to ring doorbells. Most people were likely at work anyway. Interviewing the neighbors would be a job for the police if she couldn't find Harper. A sob escaped her lips. She wouldn't be able to stand it if anything happened to her daughter. It didn’t bear thinking about. And it was all Steve’s fault. His actions had shattered their family in more ways than one. She pulled out a tissue and wiped at the tears dangling from her lashes.

  A shout from farther down the street caught her attention. She blinked through her tears and peered into the distance. Racing toward her was Henry. Clinging to his chest like a limpet on a rock was Harper.

  26

  Bridget collapsed to her knees on the sidewalk, sobbing with relief.

  Henry ran up to her and laid a hand on her shoulder, panting hard. Scrambling to her feet, Bridget held out her arms for her daughter. “Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine.” Henry heaved for breath as he tried in vain to peel his sister from his chest and hand her off.

  “No!” Harper screamed, burrowing further into Henry’s chest.

  Resigned to her daughter’s resistance, Bridget settled for wrapping her arms tightly around both of her children, whimpering with relief. “Where … where did you find her?”

  Henry took another sharp breath before answering. “I searched all our old hiding places. She was behind the electrical utility box at the end of the street.”

  Bridget rubbed her hand in gentle circles over her daughter’s back. “You
scared Mommy, Harper. I didn't know where you were. I'm so glad you're safe.”

  “Do you wanna go to Mom now?” Henry asked.

  Harper shook her head against his chest, still not looking up at either of them.

  Bridget and Henry exchanged a defeated look.

  “Let's go back to Grandma’s and Grandpa’s,” Bridget suggested. “They're bound to be worried sick.”

  As they approached the house, she caught sight of her dad dialoguing with one of the neighbors. She waved and called out to him, while Henry whistled loudly. The neighbor tapped John on the shoulder and pointed in their direction. Without a moment’s hesitation, he abandoned his conversation and hurried down the path to meet them.

  “Thank goodness you’re safe, pumpkin,” he said, kissing the back of Harper’s head tenderly. “Where were you? You should have told Grandpa you were going outside. We—“

  Bridget frowned and shook her head to warn him not to press the issue.

  “Well, the main thing is you’re okay,” he continued brightly. “Let's go back inside and let Grandma know.”

  Five minutes later, a police officer showed up on the front doorstep. “We found her,” Bridget explained when she opened the door to him. “She was hiding behind an electrical utility box at the end of the street. I’m sorry for making you come all the way out here, but I was afraid something might have happened to her.” She hesitated and furrowed her brow. “You know, in light of my husband disappearing and everything. People are angry, and they can be unpredictable.”

  “You did the right thing to call it in,” the officer reassured her, reaching for his walkie-talkie. “I’ll cancel the BOLO and let Detective Wright know your daughter’s safe.”

  After the officer left, Bridget returned to the family room where everyone was gathered. Harper was still sitting on Henry's lap, but she’d finally unlatched herself from his neck. Her eyes followed Bridget as she walked across the room and sat down on the chair opposite her. “Honey,” Bridget began. “Why were you hiding?”

  Harper’s eyes darted to her grandparents and then back to her mom. “I didn't want anyone to find me.”

  “But why not?” Bridget persisted. “We were all really worried about you.”

  “I wanted to look for Daddy.”

  “Poor little angel,” Elise tutted. “Don't you worry about your daddy, pumpkin. The police will find him.”

  Harper stuck out her bottom lip. “I don't want them to find him. I don't want Daddy to go to prison.”

  Henry squeezed his sister in his arms. “Don’t worry about Daddy. I'm here for you in the meantime.”

  Bridget smiled gratefully at Henry. She didn’t know what she would have done without his help. He’d turned out to be a real hero in this situation. Who else would have known where to begin to look for Harper? Her daughter desperately needed some daddy love, and, as young as he was, Henry seemed to realize that and was stepping up to the role. If only Steve could see him now, he'd be so proud of him.

  Breakfast the following morning was a subdued affair. Bridget hadn’t slept well on the somewhat lumpy guest room mattress she’d shared with Harper, tossing and turning as her mind sifted through everything she needed to take care of in the coming days, beginning with this morning’s hearing. She chewed on a piece of toast, steeling herself to break the news to Harper that she and Henry had to take off once more. Truth be told, she was terrified at the thought of leaving Harper with her parents again, but she couldn’t in good conscience subject her to a court hearing on whether or not her brother would be tried as an adult.

  Bridget wasn't entirely clear yet what Henry would be charged with—tampering with evidence, or improperly disposing of a body? She took a long sip of black coffee, weighing her words carefully. “Harper, honey, I have to run an errand with Henry this morning. We won't be gone long, but I need you to stay with Grandma and Grandpa. It's very important you don't leave the house this time.”

  Harper stopped eating her Fruit Loops, spoon in midair. “But I want to go with you. I don't want to stay here.”

  “I know, but Mommy needs to talk to Henry's lawyer and it's not for little kids. Tell you what, if you're good for Grandma and Grandpa, Henry and I will bring back some ice cream and we can make sundaes this afternoon. How does that sound?”

  Harper gave an enthusiastic nod. “Can we have gummy bears and sprinkles on them?”

  “Yes,” Bridget said with an inward sigh of relief. “We certainly can.”

  After they’d finished breakfast, Bridget and Henry hugged Harper goodbye and left for the court hearing. Bridget ran an approving eye over Henry’s outfit. He was smartly dressed in a shirt and slacks in muted colors borrowed from her dad. For her part, she wore a floral wrap dress she hadn’t seen her mother don in years. Bryan had advised them to look professional and respectful, but they’d had to make do with whatever clothing her parents had available to them.

  “Are you nervous?” Bridget asked as they drove to the courthouse.

  Henry shrugged. “I know this kid at our school who went to juvenile hall. He said it wasn’t that bad.”

  Bridget’s stomach twisted at the thought of her son going to juvenile hall. The very fact that he was even thinking about it broke her heart. “You don't know yet what’s going to happen. The judge might throw out your case or order you to do community service or something. It's not like you’re up for murder.”

  “You don't know that,” Henry responded glumly. “They might charge me with that too.”

  Bridget shot him a sideways glance. “Much as I hate to admit it, the obvious suspect is your father. As far as the police are concerned, it was always either him or Keith Carson. They never considered you a suspect.”

  A few minutes later, they arrived at the courthouse parking structure and retrieved a ticket from the meter before pulling into a spot on the lower level.

  “Ready?” Bridget turned to look at Henry.

  He nodded and climbed out of the car, rubbing his hands on the unfamiliar slacks he was wearing.

  Bryan was waiting for them at the top of the courthouse steps. ”Doing okay, Henry?”

  “Yeah,” he answered, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

  Bryan gave a reproving shake of his head. “Hands out of your pockets. The court’s a serious place so don’t smile or joke around when you’re inside. Just be respectful when the judge addresses you and you’ll be fine.”

  “Will I have to tell them what I did?” Henry asked, scratching at his jaw in an agitated fashion.

  “No, you won't have to say much at all at this hearing, just answer a few basic questions.” Bryan glanced at his watch. “The only decision being made today is whether or not to transfer this case to adult court. It will be up to me to convince the judge to keep it in juvenile court. Any other questions?”

  Henry raised his brows at Bridget and then shook his head.

  At the door, Bryan turned to them. “One more thing before we go in, turn off your cell phones. Judges don’t take kindly to ringtones interrupting the proceedings.”

  In a somber procession of sorts, they followed Bryan into the courtroom and took their seats as directed. Bridget surveyed the room silently. The wood-paneled space was a hive of activity, the plastic water bottles and laptops dotted around the place at odds with the austere old-world charm of the rich wood. The judge, a middle-aged, bespectacled woman seated in a black leather chair, was in the process of reviewing the case ahead of them—a fifteen-year-old caught in the act of robbery.

  “Mr. Steadman, you are charged with warrant 107495806, breaking into a motor vehicle,” the judge said. “Do you understand these charges?”

  “Yes, your honor,” the defendant replied.

  Bridget chewed nervously on her lip. The teenage defendant was five-seven or eight in height at most, which made him seem particularly vulnerable standing in the middle of the imposing courtroom surrounded by a bevy of adults typing furiously on laptops, or consulting their notes
, while armed security guards in tan pants and black shirts milled around, eyes constantly roving the room’s occupants.

  “You have a right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be appointed for you,” the judge droned on. “You also have a right to have this expunged from your record. If you are found not guilty, this charge will be dismissed.”

  Bridget zoned out, her thoughts drifting back to the moment she’d seen Jen Carson exiting Steve's office. If only she’d had the courage to confront the woman there and then, maybe none of this would have happened. She could have circumvented a murder. Instead, she’d acted like a coward and skulked away in the darkness to lick her wounds. She was no better than Steve running from his problems. With a grimace, she vowed to fight for Henry no matter what it took. When it came to her children, she would not back down.

  “Mom,” Henry whispered, nudging her in the ribs. “It's our turn.”

  Bridget blinked her eyes back into focus and turned to Bryan who gave her a confirming nod. She got to her feet and followed him and Henry up to the front of the courtroom. The judge shuffled some paperwork around on her desk before addressing them.

  “Mr. Miller, our hearing today is regarding the charge against Mr. Henry Hartman relating to penal code 75-03-C and whether or not this case should be adjudicated in juvenile court or transferred to adult court.”

  “Yes, your honor. I move that the case remain in juvenile court due to my client’s young age and the fact that he has no prior record. Furthermore, his motive was not to cover up a crime that he had committed, but rather a misguided attempt to protect his father.”

  The judge peered down over her spectacles at Henry. Her expression was impassive, and Bridget couldn't tell which direction she was leaning. More than anything, she wanted to jump in and beg for clemency for Henry—to tell the judge what an amazing and smart young man he was, and how kind he was being to his sister through all of this, and how he was really just a gentle giant despite his intimidating size. But she managed to bite her tongue. The judge wouldn’t be swayed by a mother’s biased opinion. Bridget needed to trust that Bryan’s professional efforts would get the job done.