The Other Woman: A psychological suspense thriller Read online

  “A few hours,” her dad replied. “You know how it is in these hospitals—it’s a revolving door. But I’m not complaining. The nurses checked on your mom regularly. I was happy they didn't take any chances with her.”

  “That’s good to hear,” Bridget said. “I texted my boss to let him know I won't be in next week, so I'll be able to help you out with meals, and groceries, and getting Mom into the shower and stuff.”

  “Thanks, dear. You didn't have to do that, but I appreciate it. The doctor’s just stopped by, so I have to go. I’ll look for you in a bit.”

  Bridget stood and rocked back and forth on the soles of her feet. She didn’t have a clue what time Steve and the kids had left at, or how long they would be gone. With Harper along for the ride, they wouldn't be able to bike far, maybe to the park and back at best. Knowing Harper, she’d insist on stopping at the swings for a bit too. Bridget ran a distracted hand over her forehead. Should she wait until Steve got back and challenge him about what she’d seen? If she called the police now with her crazy story, and no evidence whatsoever, she might end up being a suspect herself. She choked on the thought. Evidence! Of course! She should have inspected the trunk more carefully.

  Sliding her phone into her jeans’ pocket, she hustled back out to the car. After nervously panning the street, she opened the trunk again and peered inside. She sniffed at the air hesitantly. Was there a faint whiff of something unpleasant, or was she imagining it? With an air of trepidation, she reached her right hand into the trunk and felt around the edges. She wasn't sure what she was looking for, a button, a receipt, some kind of clue like they always seemed to find in the movies. But true to his meticulous self, Steve's trunk was empty.

  Frustrated, Bridget pulled out her phone and activated the flashlight. She shone the beam over the fabric as if it might somehow magically reveal a blood stain, or something equally ominous. That’s when she saw the long, dark hair lurking in the shadows. She sucked in a sharp breath as her worst fear came roaring back with a vengeance. The nightmare was real. A woman's body had been stashed in the trunk of her husband’s car. Overnight, Steve had removed it and hidden it–-possibly buried it. But he’d done a slovenly job of hiding his crime. The hair was the evidence she’d dreaded finding. Her husband was a murderer.

  5

  Bridget eyed the single, dark hair with a sense of impending dread. A cold sweat prickled the nape of her neck. This was the part where she was supposed to retrieve the evidence with a pair of tweezers and bag it to avoid contaminating it. But this was real life and she wasn’t a detective. What if she botched the job? It would be best to call the police and let them handle it this time. Before she could talk herself out of it, she slipped her shaking fingers into her pocket and yanked out her phone.

  A little girl’s delighted shriek cut through the morning air. Bridget jolted around in the driveway in terror. Harper! In a mad panic, she closed the trunk and stepped away from the Mercedes in time to see her daughter peddling furiously toward her on her miniature strawberry-colored bike, beaming proudly as she raced her dad and brother home. They must have given her quite the head start, or else they’d been peddling backwards since they left the park. Bridget forced her lips into a jovial smile as Harper dismounted and ran into her arms. “Mommy! Mommy! I won.”

  “Good for you, baby! I'm so proud of you for beating the boys back home.” Her voice wavered, bereft of any real conviction, but Harper was too caught up in her victory celebration to notice.

  “Well, look who's awake!” Steve teased, as he pulled up on his bike next to Bridget. She flinched when his arm brushed carelessly against hers.

  “That felt good, getting back on the bike again,” Steve remarked, stretching his arms out behind him.

  Henry skidded to a sudden stop behind his dad.

  “What are you doing out here anyway?” Steve asked, his gaze settling on Bridget.

  “She was watching for us, weren’t you, Mommy?” Harper said, attempting to unbuckle her helmet. Steve leaned over and released the strap for her.

  ”Like she's gonna stand out here all morning waiting for you to show up,” Henry scoffed.

  Bridget ruffled Harper's hair and kissed the top of her head gently to hide the flush of guilt heating her cheeks. ”Of course, I was waiting for you! Are you hungry?"

  Harper gave an emphatic nod. “I’m so starving I could eat everything in the world!”

  “Let's get these bikes put away and then we’ll go grab some brunch before we visit Grandma.” Steve shot a glance Bridget’s way as though seeking confirmation. “Any updates?”

  “Dad says she’s doing much better this morning,” Bridget replied, doing her best to sound enthused over the news. “She’s looking forward to seeing the kids.”

  “That’s good to hear.” Steve opened the rolling garage door and helped Harper mount her bike on the wall rack before coming back outside. “Which car do you want to take?”

  Bridget’s eyes widened. Her throat constricted and, for a second or two, she feared she wouldn't be able to squeeze the words out. “Mine. It’s easier to park in the compact spaces at the hospital.”

  Steve nodded. “All right. We’ll swing by Westside Tires afterward and drop that flat off for repair—they’re open on Sundays. You don't want to be driving around too long on the spare.”

  Bridget slowly released the breath she’d been holding. Her whole body had recoiled against the idea of climbing back into Steve’s Mercedes, the metal coffin that, only yesterday, had housed his lover’s body.

  “I’ll just fetch my purse,” Bridget said, hurrying up the steps to the front door. Apprehension clawed at her chest, and she briefly contemplated making up an excuse to skip brunch. But she couldn’t risk alerting Steve to the fact that she knew what he’d done—not yet at any rate.

  When she came back out a few minutes later, Henry looked up from his phone, frowning. “Quinn wants to go to brunch with us. I tried to put him off, but he wouldn’t let up.“

  “Isn't he spending Sunday with his parents?” Bridget asked, unlocking her car. Wordlessly, she handed the keys to Steve, too stressed to drive.

  “They're not home,” Henry said. “His dad went into the office and he doesn't know where his mom’s at. He's bored sick stuck at the house. His grandpa came over, but he fell asleep in front of the TV.”

  Steve shrugged and exchanged a look with Bridget. “Fine with me.”

  “All right, he can come as long as he texts his dad and gets permission,” Bridget conceded. Ordinarily she wouldn’t have hesitated to invite Quinn along, but today was no ordinary day. Her nerves were shot, and her mind was clouded with fear, uncertainty, and the dreadful suspicion that her husband was a killer.

  “Tell him we'll swing by and pick him up on the way,” Steve added.

  “Can we go to Brunch and Munch, please?” Harper pleaded, clasping her hands in front of her in her usual dramatic fashion. “I love their pancake animals.”

  “We’ll go anywhere you want today because you won the bike race,” Steve responded with a wink.

  Bridget fussed nervously with her hair as Steve started up the car. Why was he in such a good mood this morning? Did he think he’d got away with it—that she hadn’t discovered what he’d done?

  “You’re awfully quiet this morning,” he commented, as they pulled up along the sidewalk outside Quinn’s house.

  Bridget cleared her throat. “Am I?” she said, a tad too breathlessly.

  “She's worried about Grandma,” Harper chimed in. “Aren't you, Mommy?”

  Bridget looked out the window and scrunched her eyes shut. If only that’s all she had to worry about. “Yes, honey,” she replied, suppressing a sob. “I’m worried about her, but I know she's going to get better. It’s just going to take a little time.”

  She shuddered beneath the touch of Steve's hand when he reached over and squeezed her leg. “Your mom will be fine. You know what a trooper she is.“

  Bridget nodded, n
ot trusting herself to speak—thankful that Harper’s explanation of her withdrawn mood had sufficed to bail her out, for now.

  Quinn darted down the driveway to their car and sandwiched himself into the back seat with Henry and Harper. At six-foot three, he was an inch taller than Henry, but then his dad and grandpa were both big men too—well over six-foot.

  “Thanks for picking me up,” Quinn mumbled.

  Bridget turned around and smiled at him. ”No problem. How are you, Quinn?”

  “Better now that I’m out of there.” He gave Henry a sidelong grimace. ”Grandpa’s snoring his head off. I left him a note.”

  “So your parents are both working on a Sunday?” Steve commented.

  “My dad is. I don't know where Mom's at—shopping probably.”

  Bridget tightened her lips into a disapproving pout. She had yet to meet either of Quinn’s parents, but she knew from conversations with Henry that Quinn’s dad was a workaholic, just like Steve, and his mom was rarely home. She’d attended the same local high school as Steve, but he’d said they hadn’t run in the same circles back then. Still, it appeared they had more in common than they realized. Apparently, Steve wasn't the only absentee parent in these parts. A spark of anger flared in the pit of Bridget’s stomach. All this time she’d given her husband a break, making excuses for him to the kids, believing he was slaving away late at the office on their behalf. Instead, it appeared he’d been working on something else entirely. A piece on the side. That is, until something had gone wrong last night and the unthinkable had happened.

  Bridget still wasn’t sure why she hadn’t gone straight to the police when she’d first stumbled on the body, instead of driving around aimlessly trying to formulate a plan. Some part of her had instinctually wanted to protect her husband and prevent her family from being ripped apart by the macabre discovery. But it was too late for that. Steve’s infidelity had already dashed any hope of an intact family going forward. As soon as she got home, she would place the call she’d been about to make when her family had returned from their bike ride and interrupted her. It would be devastating to see the looks on Harper’s and Henry’s faces when it all came tumbling out, but it had to be done. It was the right thing to do.

  At brunch, Bridget pushed a bite-sized piece of scrambled egg around her plate shoving as much of it as she could under a lettuce leaf to make it look as if she was actually eating something. She’d managed to swallow the first bite, but then her stomach had threatened to revolt, and she’d been forced to discreetly deposit several mouthfuls into her napkin after that. Harper chattered away merrily to Steve throughout the course of their meal, while Henry and Quinn carried on a private conversation too low to make out, intermittently staring at their screens under the table. As a rule, Bridget would have told them to put their phones away, but she was too distraught to whip up the mettle to enact any of her usual disciplinary measures. She was relieved when Steve finally gestured for the bill and they all piled back into the car to make the short trip to the hospital.

  “Are you sure you want to come with us, Quinn?” Steve asked. “I don't mind dropping you home first.”

  “Nah, I’d rather hang out with Henry. Maybe I can come home with you guys afterward for a bit?” Quinn raised his brows, a hopeful expression lighting up his face.

  “I don't see why not,” Steve answered, before Bridget had a chance to intervene.

  She groaned inwardly, picturing the task that lay ahead. It was one thing to knowingly expose her own kids to a squad car full of police officers descending on their house and seizing Steve's Mercedes, but it was another thing entirely to traumatize someone else's kid in the process. She would have to come up with some excuse to drop Quinn off at his house before they headed home.

  By the time they arrived at the hospital, Bridget was a nervous wreck. She’d spent most of the drive going over in her mind what she would say to the police. She’d have to be careful what she told them, or she could end up in trouble herself for concealing evidence. It wouldn’t be wise to tell them the whole truth—that she’d known about the body since yesterday. She'd have to concoct a story about discovering the body in the trunk of Steve’s car this morning, and then fleeing into the house to compose herself, fully intending to call the police. When she’d gone back out to the car to make sure the woman was dead, the body was gone.

  Bridget pressed her fingernails into the fleshy parts of her palms as she and her family rode up the elevator to the surgical ward. The disappearing body story didn't sound very believable, even to her. How could someone have lifted a body out of a car parked in a neighborhood driveway in broad daylight? It would be an extremely risky move. She, or any one of her neighbors, could easily have caught them in the act. Her head pounded with a looming migraine. The police weren’t stupid. They’d soon poke her story full of holes with a few well-placed questions.

  When the elevator dinged, she pushed all thoughts of the dead woman to the back of her mind and led the way along the corridor to her mom’s room.

  “Hi, Mom!” Bridget smiled, bending over to kiss her on the forehead. “How are you feeling this morning?”

  “All the better for seeing the lot of you,” Elise teased. “Come over here, kids, and give Grandma a hug!”

  Steve shook hands with John and then sat down in the chair next to him.

  Harper leaned over the bed and hugged her grandma as if she were a fragile glass ornament that would crack at the slightest amount of pressure. ”I’m sad you broke your leg,” she said, plonking down on the edge of the bed.

  “She didn't break her leg, dummy,” Henry muttered. “It was her hip.”

  “I’m not a dummy!” Harper protested.

  “You leave your sister alone! Get on over here and let me take a look at you,” Elise prompted, waving Henry over. “You look like you’ve grown another inch this week.”

  He approached the bed awkwardly, fists punched into his pockets. “Hey, Grandma.”

  “Who’s this fine young gentleman with you?” Elise turned to smile at Quinn.

  “Uh, I’m Quinn, a friend of Henry’s,” he said, hoisting one side of his lips up in a tentative grin.

  “Well, aren't you the handsome boy with those thick, black curls. I bet all the girls are flocking to your door.”

  Quinn gave an embarrassed snort in response.

  Henry’s lips curled into a half-smile. “Girls don’t come to your door, Grandma. They snap chat.”

  Elise raised her silvery brows. “Well, I don't know much about all that snapping and chatting stuff.” She waved a hand in the direction of the rolling tray table pushed off to one side. “Why don’t you kids help yourselves to a snack? John's been bringing me all sorts of things to eat but, to be honest, I haven't had much of an appetite.”

  Henry and Quinn immediately swarmed the table and started rummaging through the contents of the brown paper grocery bag that sat next to a vase of flowers.

  Harper folded her arms in front of her and stuck out her bottom lip. ”There won’t be anything left for me. Henry will eat it all.”

  “I think I might have a morsel for you!” John said with an elaborate wink, rustling something in his jacket pocket.

  Harper's eyes widened. She jumped up and darted over to her grandpa as he pulled out a bag of Jolly Rancher candy.

  “Hey, not fair!” Henry protested. “She gets all the good stuff.”

  “There's plenty to go around,” his grandpa said. “You just need to be nice to your sister and she’ll dole you out your fair share.”

  They all laughed at the triumphant smirk on Harper's face as she clutched the bag of candy to her chest.

  Quinn's phone beeped and he pulled it out of his back pocket. He frowned at the screen for a long moment, until Henry nudged him in the ribs. “What's up?”

  Quinn’s perplexed gaze traveled around the faces in the room. “It's … a text from my dad. My mom’s missing.”

  6

  Bridget’s hand f
lew to her mouth, a thousand dark thoughts colliding in her mind at once. Her tongue felt thick and useless as she attempted to say something—anything.

  “What do you mean, she’s missing?” Steve asked in a measured tone.

  Bridget averted her eyes, terrified of meeting her husband’s gaze and reading guilt in it. Surely Jen Carson’s disappearance couldn’t be connected to the body in his car. She exhaled a sharp breath. No! It was far too preposterous a notion. “How long has she been missing?”

  Quinn shrugged. “Dunno. My dad just texted me from work. He was wondering if I was back yet.” He exchanged a loaded look with Henry—who cut him a glare in return—and then frowned down at the screen on his phone again.

  Bridget surreptitiously observed both boys for a moment. Something was amiss, but she couldn’t put her finger on what was so disconcerting about the silent communication that had passed between them.

  “Oh dear,” Elise said. “This is very worrisome. Bridget, you and Steve should take Quinn home. I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation, but it sounds as if his dad needs him.”

  “We’ll come back and visit you again tomorrow, Mom.” Bridget reached shakily for her purse. Her whole body was vibrating with fear as the monstrous suspicion that had struck her took root. She let her eyes linger for a moment on Quinn’s thick head of jet-black curls. She had no idea what his mother looked like, but the fact that she was missing, and that the body in the trunk of Steve's car had black hair the color of Quinn’s, made Bridget sick to her stomach. She shook her head free of the horrifying line of reasoning she was catapulting along at breakneck speed. She was reading far too much into this, jumping to wild conclusions. Quinn's mother had likely gone shopping somewhere just like he’d suspected. There was nothing to indicate otherwise. And nothing whatsoever to suggest that she was the woman Steve had murdered.