The Other Woman: A psychological suspense thriller

by N L Hinkens

  Bridget considered this for a moment. “If that's the case, why did Keith arrange to meet up with Steve instead of going straight to the police with his suspicions?”

  “The way he tells it, it was all about the money. He was afraid the company would go under and he would lose everything. He wanted Steve to own up to where he and Jen had stashed the money. And then he was going to turn him in for her murder.”

  “Do you believe him?” Bridget asked.

  Detective Wright sighed. “If your husband’s innocent, he's not doing himself any favors by running. These emails could help his defense, but only if he shows up to face the charges.”

  Bridget nibbled on a ragged fingernail. She was right back to where she’d started with her own suspicions—if Steve was innocent, why had he run? “I tried calling him again a little while ago. Still no answer.”

  “All right, keep at it. He might come to his senses yet. Without hearing Steve’s side of the story, Keith Carson has free rein to interpret the emails in a way that puts him in the best light. In fact, he’s holding a press conference tomorrow at noon.”

  Bridget’s blood turned to ice in her veins. What exactly was Keith planning to say? This could put her kids in more danger than ever. She had to talk to him beforehand—apologize and try and persuade him to appeal to the public to leave them alone. Detective Wright might not approve of her plan, but he didn’t need to know. “I’d better get going,” she said. “I should bail out of here before it gets too late.”

  She made a final sweep of the house before hunting down Officer Lopez and letting him know she had everything she needed.

  He made his way to the front door, where they’d stacked up the boxes they were taking, and took a quick peek outside to assess the situation. “There are several reporters out there now. It might be best if I load the car and you wait inside until we're ready to leave.”

  “Are you sure?” Bridget slid a guilty gaze his way. “I feel bad about leaving you to haul all the boxes.”

  “It's not that much,” Officer Lopez assured her. “It will make my job easier if I don't have to worry about your safety.”

  Bridget raised her brows. “I thought you said no one’s allowed to step on my property.”

  “They're not,” he confirmed. “But there's no guarantee the mob mentality won't result in something being lobbed your way. A decent-sized rock on the side of the head would be enough to knock you out.”

  Bridget scratched at her cheek nervously. “What about you?”

  Officer Lopez dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand as he reached for a plastic tub of toiletries. “They won’t mess with an armed police officer. If there's any indication of trouble, I'll call for back up.”

  Bridget gave a dubious nod and stepped away from the door, concealing herself from view as Officer Lopez carried the first load out to the car. She cringed at the barrage of questions and comments that trailed him.

  “Officer! Is the killer’s wife going to be arrested?”

  “Will the fourteen-year-old be charged as an adult?”

  “Sickos, the lot of them!”

  “Can you comment on whether the girl’s been placed in foster care?”

  “The kid did it! Fry him!”

  “Is it true it was really the fourteen-year-old who was having an affair with Jen Carson?”

  Bridget squeezed her eyes shut and retreated to the kitchen. She couldn't listen to the putrid bombardment any longer. It was clear her entire family had been tried and condemned along with Steve. As usual, the public had dispensed with the facts and run with a far more titillating adaptation, going so far as to speculate that Henry had been both Jen’s lover and killer.

  Bridget sank down at the dining table and ran her hands over her face. She would go to the Carsons’ place tomorrow and try to reach out to them. Maybe Keith would take pity on her. After all, they’d both lost their spouses, in one sense or another. She would express to him and Quinn how terribly sorry she was for what Steve had done, and maybe they would reciprocate with a sliver of sympathy. Hopefully, Quinn would agree to tell the kids at school to back off, and Keith might even be willing to address the issue with the media and ask everyone to restrain from venting their rage on Steve’s family, who were also victims. Of course, it was a stretch to say Henry was merely a victim. She had to admit he’d done something reprehensible in the eyes of the community, and now they were all paying the price for it.

  “Okay, your car’s loaded up,” Officer Lopez said, coming back into the room. “If you're ready, I'll escort you out and follow you to your parents’ place.”

  “That’s really not necessary,” Bridget said. “You’ve done more than enough already.”

  “I’d feel better knowing you made it there safely. Besides, if anyone attempts to follow us, I can call it in and have them pulled over.”

  Bridget nodded her thanks. What he was saying made sense. It didn't do her or her family any good if the hostile crowd outside simply relocated to her parents’ neighborhood.

  Steeling herself for the walk of shame from her front door to her car, she exited the house at Officer Lopez’s side. Keeping her head down, she hustled over to her car and wrenched open the door, ignoring the feverish volley of questions and jeers. Quaking, she slid behind the wheel and gripped it tightly with her left hand as she turned the key in the ignition. Glancing in her rearview mirror, she saw that Officer Lopez had positioned himself at the bottom of her driveway and was guiding her out. She backed out slowly, half afraid the crowd would swarm the trunk of her car and start hammering on it with their fists. She crawled off down the street, thankful to see Officer Lopez's vehicle in close pursuit. As he’d predicted, one of the reporters jumped in her car and did a U-turn in the street, intent on following them.

  Within minutes, a squad car with flashing lights was on her tail and pulled her over. Bridget swallowed back the bile in her throat, thankful for police protection, but nauseated at how vulnerable she’d become. Was this to be her life from now on? Hunted and exiled—an outcast in her own community? The only saving grace was that the public’s attention span was short. As morbid at thought as it was, she couldn’t help hoping it wouldn't be long before they latched onto their next victim and left her and her children in peace.

  29

  At her parents’ house, Officer Lopez helped Bridget and Henry unload the car and carry all their bits and pieces inside.

  “I really appreciate all your help,” Bridget said, when he got ready to take off.

  “My pleasure. Don’t hesitate to call if you feel threatened again in any way.” He tipped his fingers to his head and strode back down the driveway to his car.

  “I’m thankful Officer Lopez was there at the house with me,” Bridget commented to Henry as they watched him drive away.

  Henry turned to her. “Was it really bad?”

  Bridget nodded. “Not so much the questions from the reporters, more the ugly comments and jabs.” She squeezed Henry’s arm and led him back inside the house, reluctant to elaborate on the malicious gibes she’d overheard that pertained to him.

  “Why don't you go put your things away,” she suggested. “I want to talk to Grandma and Grandpa alone for a few minutes.”

  “I don’t have to go to school tomorrow, do I?” Henry asked.

  “No, I’m keeping you and Harper home from school in the meantime. We’ll talk about your options after the trial when we know where we stand.”

  Bridget grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator in the kitchen and joined her parents in the family room. “Did Harper go to bed without kicking up a fuss?”

  “She was no trouble at all,” Elise assured her. “Poor little thing was exhausted. How was it at the house?”

  Bridget pulled a face. “I suppose it could have been worse. At least nobody threw anything at me. I was prepared for anything.”

  John let out a sigh. “I’m so sorry you're going through this, dear. It's not right. Whatever Stev
e’s done, he should have stayed and faced it.”

  “I just found out that Keith Carson’s holding a press conference tomorrow at noon,” Bridget said. “I’m going to go around there first thing in the morning. Maybe I can persuade Keith to appeal to everyone to leave both of our families alone. If nothing else, I need to let him and Quinn know how sorry I am.”

  “I’m not sure that’s such a great idea. If it doesn’t go well, Keith could use the press conference to make things worse for you.” John rubbed his brow disconcertedly. “If he threatened his wife before, he has a temper.”

  “I have to try,” Bridget insisted. “Besides, Quinn left his house key at our place and I need to return it to him. It will be a good excuse to see how receptive Keith is to hearing me out.”

  “I can tell I'm not going be able to talk you out of it,” John conceded. “What time do you want to go over there?”

  “Let's say eight. I don't know for sure if Keith will be there, but at least I can have a chat with Quinn—he won’t be at school, he posted something about being out for the rest of the week.”

  John got to his feet, a stiff crust of resignation on his face as he walked over to help Elise up. “All right, it's settled. I'll see you bright and early.”

  The next morning, Bridget drank a black coffee while her dad ate a plateful of scrambled eggs. She didn’t trust her stomach to handle any food, at least not until after she had this uncomfortable conversation with Quinn and his father behind her. She didn’t particularly like what she knew of Keith Carson, but she'd come to the unhappy conclusion that even though he’d threatened his wife on multiple occasions, he wasn’t the one ultimately responsible for her murder—there was no getting around the fact that Steve was the man on the run.

  Her dad got to his feet and took his plate over to the sink. “I’ll just let your mother know we’re leaving and then I'll be right out.”

  Bridget reached for her purse and checked her messages as she made her way to her car. Still no response from Steve. Her heart sank. She couldn't help fearing the worst—what if he’d taken his life, overcome with guilt? If that were the case, the police might never find him. She grimaced, wondering how people managed to live out their lives with no conclusive answers about their loved one’s fate. Wherever Steve was, whatever he had done, she would rather know the agonizing truth than be left to speculate for years on end.

  A few moments later, her dad shuffled out to the car. They drove the short distance to the Carsons’ house making small talk and avoiding alluding to the uncomfortable task Bridget had set herself. She parked along the street and turned to her dad. “Please, promise me you'll stay in the car.”

  “I won’t move unless you text me otherwise,” he assured her.

  Bridget kissed him on the cheek before making her way up the path to the front door and ringing the doorbell. She waited anxiously for a minute or two before Maria opened the door to her. A flicker of consternation crossed her brow. “Bridget! I didn't expect to see you here.”

  “Hi, Maria, I was hoping to talk to Quinn, and Keith too, if he’s home.”

  The housekeeper cast a quick glance up and down the street and then ushered Bridget inside. “Keith went to the office to take care of a few things. Quinn’s here though.” She led Bridget through to the kitchen. “Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  “Sure, that would be great,” Bridget replied. She’d already had more than enough caffeine to set her teeth on edge but holding a mug would give her something to do with her shaking hands.

  Maria poured her a coffee and refilled her own mug before joining her at the table. “I take it you still haven't heard anything from your husband.”

  Bridget shook her head. “That's why I’m here, actually. I wanted to tell Quinn face-to-face how sorry I am. I didn't want to believe at first that my husband could be behind something so awful, but the facts don’t lie.” She stared morosely into her coffee mug.

  Maria reached over and put a hand on her arm. “That's just it, Bridget. You don't have all the facts. You're assuming you know what happened.”

  Bridget twisted her lips. “I realize that Keith and his wife weren't getting along, and I know that people in unhappy marriages say a lot of ugly things to each other. But Keith's not the one on the run, Maria. Evidently, my husband has something to hide.”

  Before the housekeeper had a chance to respond, Quinn strode into the kitchen. He came to a sudden halt, clearly taken aback at finding Bridget sitting at the table.

  She got to her feet and walked over to him, embracing him before he could get away. “Quinn, I'm so sorry about your mom. If I could make this right, believe me I would.”

  He gave an embarrassed nod. “I know. You’ve always been kind to me, Mrs. Hartman. I wish my mom had been more like you.”

  Bridget blinked back tears. It broke her heart to hear the anguished resentment in his voice.

  “Do you want some breakfast?“ Maria asked him.

  He shook his head as he slid into a chair. “I’m not hungry.”

  For a moment there was an awkward silence, and then Quinn fastened a stricken gaze on Bridget. “Mrs. Hartman, I'm sorry about what happened to your house. I didn't want any part of it, but these kids at school, they were going on and on about it and—“

  “It's all right,” Bridget interrupted. “We've all made mistakes. Believe me, yours is the least of them.”

  Quinn sniffed, scratching one arm nervously. “It won't happen again. I told the other kids I’d go to the police if they don’t leave you alone.”

  “I appreciate that, Quinn.” Bridget gave him a tentative smile. “It's one thing when people are saying ugly things about you, but when it gets physical, it's terrifying. Especially without Steve being here to—“ Her voice trailed off.

  Quinn looked at her curiously. “Do you really not know where he is?”

  Bridget drew her brows together and shook her head. “He left a note saying I'm sorry. That's it. No indication of where he was going or why. He won’t answer his phone or respond to any of my messages.”

  Quinn rubbed a hand over his jaw. “Me and Henry argued about it a lot. I didn’t want to admit it, but I thought all along it was my dad who did it—he threatened Mom enough times.”

  “Quinn,” Bridget said gently. “Why did you lie to Detective Wright about that? Why did you tell him your mom threatened your dad?”

  Quinn shot a frightened glance from Bridget to Maria and back. “Dad told me to. He said the police were trying to frame him for Mom’s murder.”

  Bridget closed her eyes briefly, contemplating whether or not to press him on the issue. Maybe she could persuade him to retract his statement and tell Detective Wright the truth. She startled at the sound of footsteps coming into the room, turning her head to see Keith looming over them.

  “Bridget! What's going on in here?” he demanded.

  She scooted her chair out from the table and stood. “I wanted to come over here in person and tell you how terribly sorry I am. If there was any way at all I could make this right, believe me I would.”

  Keith appeared to size her up for a moment before responding. “They still haven't eliminated me as a suspect.”

  “I know, and I'm sorry for what you’ve been put through,” Bridget responded. “I didn’t want to believe my husband was capable of doing something so awful, but the evidence speaks for itself.”

  “It appears so,” Keith agreed, his brow furrowed.

  “I … also wanted to apologize for my son's role in all of this,” Bridget continued. “He wasn't thinking straight—he was scared for his dad. I know it was rash and stupid, and Henry deeply regrets it.”

  Keith cleared his throat. “I imagine this isn’t easy for you either. I know what they've been saying about you and your family.”

  “It’s been very hard—a nightmare, to be honest,” Bridget admitted. “We've had to move out of our house for the foreseeable future.”

  “If there's anything I c
an do, let me know,” Keith said, with a helpless shrug.

  “Detective Wright told me you’re holding a press conference at noon,” Bridget replied, seizing the opening. “Maybe you could appeal to the public to leave both of our families alone.”

  Keith gave a curt nod. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Bridget smiled her thanks. “I should get back to my kids. I appreciate you hearing me out.”

  Maria got up from the table and escorted her to the front door. “Don’t trust that man,” she said in a low tone, her gaze locked on Bridget. “He wanted his wife dead, and he got his wish. I don't believe for one minute that’s a coincidence.”

  30

  Bridget’s dad peered across at her anxiously when she climbed back into the car. “How did it go?”

  “Better than I expected. I don't think Quinn holds what Steve did against me, or against Henry either, for that matter. And he was bummed about what the kids did to our house.”

  “I saw Keith pull into the garage a few minutes ago. How did he react?” her dad asked.

  “I told him how sorry I was. He knows how stressful this has been for us too. I'm optimistic he’ll appeal to the public to leave both of our families in peace.”

  “That’s a relief to hear. It was brave of you to talk to him.”

  “I had to try for Quinn's sake—he’s like a second son to me. He’s spent a lot of time at our house lately. I can't even imagine the pain he's going through right now. It's bad enough watching Henry suffer—he’s essentially lost a parent also.”

  John pressed his lips together. “The whole situation’s a crying shame if you ask me.”

  Bridget nodded despondently as she started up the car and shifted into drive. “Let's go home and check on Mom and the kids.”

  As she drove, she mused over Maria's words, mumbling appropriate responses to her dad’s occasional remarks. It wasn't the first time Maria had strongly hinted that Keith had something to do with his wife’s death. Bridget hadn’t entirely dismissed the notion that he might have blackmailed Steve into getting rid of Jen’s body in exchange for keeping his mouth shut about Steve’s and Jen’s affair. And then there was the money Keith was so desperate to recover. What role had Steve played in that?