The Other Woman: A psychological suspense thriller

by N L Hinkens

  An uncomfortable nagging at the back of Bridget’s mind grew stronger. If Steve had been helping Jen siphon off money from Keith’s company, it was possible he’d bought himself safe passage across the border and was already a long way from here reaping the rewards of his cunning scheme. As outrageous as it sounded, it was all beginning to make sense. It appeared her husband was a better liar, and a whole lot cleverer, than she’d ever given him credit for. He was definitely not the man she thought she’d married.

  By the time they got back to the house, Harper was bouncing off the walls. “Henry says we don't have to go to school today again!”

  “He’s right,” Bridget replied. She turned to her son with a pleading look in her eyes. “Maybe you can take your sister to the park when it warms up and let her burn off some of that energy.”

  “Sure.” He shuffled his feet, looking awkward. “Did you … talk to Quinn?”

  “Yes, you should call him. He's really sorry about what happened to our house. I get the impression the other kids strong-armed him into it.”

  Henry looked relieved. “Okay, I'll text him.”

  Bridget pulled her phone out of her purse. “I’m going to call your lawyer now to make that appointment about the hearing.” She wandered into the kitchen and began unloading the dishwasher while she waited for Bryan's office to pick up.

  “Miller and Saarloos legal services,” a young female voice chirped. “How can I help you?”

  “Yes, this is Bridget Hartman. I need to make a pre-hearing appointment with Bryan Miller for my son, Henry Hartman.”

  “What date is the hearing scheduled for?”

  “Tuesday the twenty-second,” Bridget answered.

  “Ah yes, here it is. Bryan actually has a cancellation this morning if you can come in at ten?”

  “I think that will work,” Bridget said, scrambling to remember if she’d committed to anything else this morning. She wanted to watch the press conference at noon, but the meeting with Bryan would be over before that.

  “Great, we’ll see you in a bit.” The woman hung up and Bridget went to look for Henry.

  “Bryan Miller wants to meet with us at ten o'clock this morning,” she said when she found him sprawled in a bean bag in the guest room, scrolling through his phone.

  “What about taking Harper to the park? I promised her.”

  “We won’t be gone long. You can take her when we get back.” Bridget didn't add that it would be a good thing if the kids were out of the house when Keith Carson’s press conference aired. She would prefer it if they didn't hear him answering questions about his dead wife and how her body had been discovered in a dumpster, tossed there by his son’s friend. A shiver ran across Bridget’s shoulders. It was still hard for her to comprehend that her son had done something so egregious.

  They arrived at Bryan Miller's office a few minutes early and sat down to wait in the elegantly appointed lounge area. Henry was clearly agitated, bouncing his knee up and down and twisting his hands in his lap. Bridget could hardly blame him. He faced the very real possibility that an unsympathetic judge might elect to incarcerate him. After all, it wasn't as though he’d dumped a bag of trash illegally, or something equally innocuous.

  “There's no need to be nervous,” Bridget assured him. “Bryan’s on our side. He’ll do his best to convince the judge to be lenient with you.”

  “Mrs. Hartman,” the receptionist called over to them. “Bryan will see you now.”

  The receptionist led them into a wood-paneled office and quietly closed the door behind them.

  Bryan got to his feet and shook hands with Bridget and Henry. “Glad you could make it this morning. How are you feeling about the adjudication hearing?” He addressed the question to no one in particular, but his gaze settled on Henry who gave a non-committal shrug. “Okay, I guess.”

  “The presiding judge is a father himself,” Bryan said. “That may help us in our plea for clemency.”

  He flicked open the file in front of him and glanced through it. “Basically, the same rules apply as last time. Dress smart and be respectful. Don't speak unless you're asked a question.” He looked pointedly at Bridget. “That especially applies to you. You're only there to accompany your minor child. The judge probably won’t address you at all. You might have to bite your tongue at times, but it would be in Henry’s best interest if you don't jump in. The judge isn’t going to want to see you answering questions on your son’s behalf.”

  Bryan turned his attention back to Henry. “The judge will want to see genuine remorse on your part. I can only do so much in terms of pleading your case, but in the end, it comes down to the impression you make.”

  Henry scratched his cheek, looking nervous. “What kind of impression are you talking about?”

  “Just be yourself,” Bryan replied. “Don't be cocky. Tell the judge honestly what you told me and your mother. You were afraid for your dad. You panicked and tried to help him. You meant well, but you just made a bad decision in the heat of the moment, and afterward, you didn't know how to fix it. You’re very sorry and you feel terrible about what you did.”

  Bryan went on to explain exactly what would take place at the hearing and then handed each of them a printout of his instructions. “Don't hesitate to call if you have any additional questions in the interim,” he said as he got to his feet at the end of their meeting. “Oh, and make sure you're on time. Judge Peterschick is a stickler for punctuality.” He ushered them out to the reception area and shook hands with them as they took their leave.

  “Do you feel better about the hearing now?” Bridget asked, as she and Henry walked back to the car.

  He let loose a nervous laugh. “I’ll feel better when it's over.”

  Bridget put an arm around his shoulder and hugged him. “We both will.”

  Back at the house, Harper was frothing at the mouth to get to the park. Henry grabbed a banana-nut muffin from the kitchen and took her by the hand, waving goodbye to Bridget on their way out. “We’ll be back for lunch.”

  “Wait!” Bridget rummaged in her purse and pressed some money into Henry’s fist. “Why don't you take your sister to McDonalds?”

  “Yay! Thank you, Mommy!” Harper jumped up and down, tugging on her brother’s hand. “Hurry, Henry!”

  He rolled his eyes as he let her lead him out the door.

  Bridget busied herself checking the contents of the refrigerator and the pantry, making a quick grocery list while she brewed some more coffee.

  “Mmm, smells good in here,” her dad said, walking into the kitchen.

  Bridget smiled and poured him a mug. “Is Mom up yet?”

  “She’s getting dressed. She flat wore herself out at physical therapy yesterday.”

  “She's making great progress. I didn't expect her to be this mobile already.”

  They glanced up at the sound of a walker squeaking its way down the hallway.

  “I’m such a slow poke.” Elise tinkled a laugh as she appeared in the doorway. “Takes me forever to get dressed.” She shuffled over to the table where John helped ease her into a seat.

  “What would you like for breakfast?” he asked. “Although it’s almost lunchtime.”

  Elise swatted a hand in his direction. “Don’t remind me. Just some toast and a cup of tea would be great.” She pinned a questioning gaze on Bridget. “How did everything go at the Carsons?”

  “I think it went well. Quinn’s upset, of course, about his mother and sorry about what happened to our house. Keith’s holding a press conference at noon, and he plans on addressing the harassment and asking the public to leave both our families alone.”

  “That’s good news.” Elise took a long draught of her tea. “Still no word on Steve's whereabouts, I take it?”

  Bridget shook her head despairingly. “I have a sinking feeling he's disappeared with Keith’s money. I just hope Keith doesn't sue me down the line. I’m sure his lawyers will encourage it.”

  “But you did no
thing wrong,” Elise protested.

  Bridget grimaced. “He could still go after Steve's business. And if he does, our whole world will crumble like a stack of cards. I can’t support myself and the kids and pay the mortgage and all the other bills on a shift supervisor’s salary. We could end up losing the house.”

  Her dad squeezed her arm. “You're not going to end up homeless, not as long as we're here to help you.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “It's eleven-forty-five. Almost time for that press conference.”

  Elise drained the rest of her tea and then reached for her walker and struggled to her feet. After she’d navigated her way down the hallway, they settled themselves in the family room and John turned on the television. Bridget interlaced her fingers around her mug, her thoughts drifting to the upcoming hearing, while her parents caught the tail end of a home decorating show.

  At noon, John tuned into the local news channel. The newscaster introduced the lead story and then the camera panned to the press conference. The police chief stepped forward to the multitude of microphones and addressed the crowd first. “Our attempts to locate Steve Hartman are ongoing and we are exhausting every possible avenue and exploring every lead. Rest assured, he will be found, and he will be tried for the charges he’s facing.”

  Bridget frowned. As far as she was aware, the only charge he was facing was tampering with evidence. Evidently, his flight had served to confirm in the eyes of law enforcement that he was the killer.

  After a few minutes, the police chief moved aside, and Keith Carson stepped up to the podium.”I want to thank everyone for their support at this extraordinarily difficult time for myself and my son.” He gestured to his right where Quinn sat on a chair next to his grandfather, his eyes avoiding the camera.

  “While the investigation into my wife's murder is ongoing, I have no doubt that Steve Hartman, the man she was having an affair with, is responsible for killing her. As we know, his son has admitted to dumping … Jen’s body.” He hesitated, choking up, and then looked straight at the camera. “It's clear that Steve Hartman’s family is willing to go to any length to help cover up his crime. My family has suffered enough. I’m appealing to the Hartman family to do the right thing—to come forward and tell the police where Steve is hiding out.”

  31

  The police chief stepped back up to the podium and took a few questions before ending the press conference. The footage returned to the studio where the newscaster swiftly moved on to the next story.

  Bridget sat in stunned silence on the couch, trying to digest what she'd just witnessed. Keith Carson had completely blindsided her. She’d left his house this morning convinced they had an understanding, both reeling from the pain of being cheated on, both bereft of their spouses. But Maria had been right about him after all. He was not to be trusted.

  “I’d like to give him a piece of my mind,” John said, his face like thunder. “How dare he accuse us of helping Steve run from the law!”

  Elise turned to Bridget. “He must know we would never do any such thing.”

  Bridget rubbed her throbbing temple with her fingertips, trying to collect her thoughts and make sense of it. “To be fair, if the shoe were on the other foot, I suppose I might suspect Keith’s family of helping him flee. I don't hold it against him that he doubts me. I hold it against him that he was too spineless to say it to my face when I was at his house earlier.”

  Elise adjusted her glasses and peered anxiously at her husband. “John, you don't think we'll have any trouble here now, do you?”

  He let out a snort. “I’m sure we will! What's to stop the neighbors thinking we were in on helping Steve disappear?”

  Bridget dropped her head into her hands. “I’m sorry I brought this on you. We should have gone to a hotel instead.”

  “Nonsense!” her mom retorted. “We’ll get through this, one step at a time. Anyone who knows us won’t believe for one minute that we helped Steve evade justice.”

  “I’m not so sure,” Bridget responded, getting to her feet. “They know Henry tried to cover up the crime. And kids learn things from their parents. It's not too much of a stretch for the public to conclude we were all in on it. I think it's time we faced the fact that we’re in for a PR nightmare.”

  The days leading up to Henry's trial proved to be equally as difficult as Bridget had feared. It pained her to no end to see her dad snubbed at the grocery store and neighbors cutting off contact. Even some of her parents’ close friends had resorted to giving them the cold shoulder. Nobody wanted to be associated with a killer's family, especially when that family was under suspicion of harboring a fugitive.

  On Monday, Bridget made a quick trip to the school to pick up some work that Henry’s and Harper’s teachers had assigned them. She was still unsure at this point whether the kids would return to their school or not, but it was important to keep up with the semester’s work in the meantime. Not to mention the fact that they needed something to do to distract them from everything that was going on. Bridget entered the foyer of the administration building and gave Debra, the receptionist, a stiff smile. “I’m here to pick up some work for Henry and Harper Hartman,” she explained, trying to sound more composed than she felt.

  Debra ran her eye unabashedly over Bridget. “Let me see if I have anything for them.” She got to her feet and retreated to the shelving at the back of the office, making a show of looking through various slots for the kids’ assignments. Bridget had a feeling she knew exactly where the work packets were located. No doubt she’d had a good gossip with the kids’ teachers when they’d handed them over.

  “Mrs. Hartman,” a voice behind her said.

  She wheeled around to see Mr. Barker, Henry's English teacher, standing behind her.

  “I wonder if I might have a quick word,” he added, stroking his goatee.

  “Of course,” Bridget replied, a feeling of mild panic circling in the pit of her stomach.

  He gestured to the seating area in the corner of the foyer. She followed him over there and sat down in a vinyl lounge chair.

  “As you can imagine,” he stated, “this has all been very traumatic for my students.”

  Bridget stared at him coldly. “I don't need to imagine the trauma, Mr. Barker. This has been extremely hard on our family.”

  “Indeed.” He blinked rapidly behind his glasses. “Well, I’m going to get right to it, Mrs. Hartman. Henry is one of my best students, but some of the parents have expressed reservations about him being in the class with their children, on account of his … recent actions.”

  “That seems a bit extreme, don't you think?” Bridget shot back. “He made a mistake. He acted instinctively to protect his dad.”

  “He threw a woman’s body in a dumpster—his friend’s mother whom he believed his father had killed,” Mr. Barker responded, an incredulous note in his voice. “Some of the parents see his actions as those of a disturbed child, Mrs. Hartman. It puts me in an extremely difficult position.”

  “Henry’s not disturbed,” Bridget retorted. “He's a teenager who did something rash and impetuous. He deeply regrets his actions.” She reached for her purse and got to her feet. “However, if that's the kind of judgment he faces at this school, perhaps it would be best for his sake if he didn't return.”

  Abandoning her plans to pick up her kids’ assignments, Bridget stormed out the front door and down the steps, shaking as she made her way back to her car. It seemed no one was prepared to offer her a scrap of empathy or support, or ask if there was anything they could do for her or her kids. They were simply collateral damage in this horrendous situation that Steve had instigated. She thumped on her steering wheel in frustration as she raced out of the parking lot. It wasn't fair! What Steve had done to his own family—not to mention to the Carsons—was unforgivable.

  Bridget barely slept that night, between agonizing over what Mr. Barker had said and sweating over what the hearing the following day would bring. In many ways, it would be har
der for her to watch her son on trial than her husband—if it ever came to that. She was beginning to fear the police would never catch up with Steve.

  Shortly before eleven the next morning, Henry came into the kitchen dressed in a white shirt, chinos, and a jacket. The dark circles under his eyes told Bridget he hadn’t slept much either.

  “You look very presentable,” she said, mustering up a smile. “Just make sure you don't spill your breakfast on that shirt.”

  Henry slid into a chair at the table. “I’m not hungry.” He rested his elbows in front of him and rubbed his hands together. “I just want to get this over with, whatever way it goes.”

  “Have a little faith in Bryan,” Bridget assured him. “He's an excellent lawyer.”

  “I talked things over with Quinn earlier,” Henry said. “He went to school today—he couldn’t bear to stay home alone anymore. He wished me luck.”

  Bridget stabbed at a piece of poached egg. She couldn't forgive what Keith Carson had done to them. In an instant, he’d managed to erase whatever little support they’d had in the community, turning the tide of popular opinion firmly against them. Still, it wasn't a valid reason to hold a grudge against Quinn. The boy had only ever been a pawn in his parents’ hands.

  “I’m glad you two made up,” Bridget said, taking a quick sip of her coffee. She pushed her plate aside. “I still think you should eat something before we go. We could be stuck at the courthouse for several hours. I'm not sure how many other cases are ahead of us.”

  Henry curled his lip. “Can’t. I’d only toss it back up.”

  The ride to the courthouse was tense as Bridget tried to come up with innocuous topics to talk about, while Henry answered in monosyllables. Eventually, she gave up and concentrated on getting them there on time.