The Other Woman: A psychological suspense thriller Page 8

  “Of course,” Bridget replied, the words sticking in her throat. Doubt stirred inside her once again as she saw the emotion in his face. Maybe it was wishful thinking on her part suspecting him of being his wife’s killer. What if it really was Steve? She had the power to give Keith some closure, to let him know that she’d seen his wife’s body in the trunk of her husband’s car. Was it unconscionable of her to try and protect her own interests by continuing to conceal evidence, to wait until the police figured things out for themselves?

  But she had her two children to think of. If she and Steve were both arrested, Henry and Harper would essentially be orphaned, something she was not willing to let happen. Her parents were too elderly to care for their grandchildren properly, and Steve's parents had passed away years ago. Whatever the cost to the Carson family, she would keep her mouth shut about finding the body in the trunk of her husband’s Mercedes. Ultimately, Steve would pay the price for whatever he’d done, but she wasn’t going to suffer for his crime along with him.

  Tuesday flew by in a blur as Bridget helped her parents get settled back into their house. She made a trip to the store and brought back a cart full of groceries to restock the refrigerator and pantry, and then cooked up a pot of chicken noodle soup and prepared a lasagna. While her mom napped, she and her dad went through the house together, moving hazards such as fringed rugs and unnecessary decorative furniture in an effort to enable her mom to more easily navigate from the bedroom to the family room on her new walker. They installed an elevated toilet seat in her bathroom and replaced the bathroom mat with a rubber-backed version to make sure she didn't slip.

  “It still looks dark in here to me,” Bridget remarked dubiously, after she’d replaced a couple of burned out lightbulbs. ”You might want to get another lamp or two, Dad. Mom's eyesight isn't the best.”

  “I have some extras stashed in the garage,” he said. “Your mom decided she didn't like the ones in the guest bedroom anymore so she made me haul them out of the house. But, of course, I wasn’t allowed to dispose of them, if you can believe that.”

  Bridget chuckled. “Don’t worry about it now,” she said. “Mom will probably sleep most of the day. You’ll have plenty of time to look for them later on when I’m gone. Speaking of which, whatever you do, don't try and bathe her if I'm not here. With your arthritis, you won’t be able to catch her if she slips. I’ve taken the week off work so I can help out with everything.”

  By the time Bridget left her parents’ house later on that afternoon, she was physically and emotionally spent. She could use a nap herself, but the kids would be home from school by now and Harper would need help with her homework. Besides, she needed to make more of an effort to supervise Henry’s computer time and make sure he was working on his school assignments and not just goofing off.

  Her heart jolted when she rounded the corner into her street and saw a squad car parked outside her house yet again. Dread circled in her stomach like a gathering storm. She hoped the police hadn’t knocked on the door with the kids home alone. Considering the fact that Henry wouldn’t hear a thing with his headphones on, Harper might have answered the door, only to find a uniformed officer and a detective staring down at her.

  Bridget swerved into the driveway and yanked on the handbrake, trying to settle her jangling nerves before she clambered out. She wondered how much progress the police had made in the investigation overnight. Had they found evidence of Steve’s and Jen’s affair? If they were here to confront him about it, then he was definitely a suspect.

  “I’m afraid my husband’s at work,” Bridget said stiffly, as she approached the front door where Detective Wright and Officer Lopez had positioned themselves, waiting patiently for her.

  “Actually, it’s you we’d like to speak with, if you have a few minutes,” Detective Wright replied in a disarming manner.

  Bridget’s stomach churned with apprehension as she opened the door and led them into the family room. This couldn’t be about the anonymous tip. Were they going to ask her if she’d known about the affair? Did they suspect her of covering up for something Steve had done?

  “Go ahead and make yourselves comfortable,” she said, flinching at the wobble in her voice. “I’ll let the kids know I'm back.”

  Truth be told, she needed a few minutes to collect herself. She was running on adrenaline at this point after only picking at her food for days. She stuck her head briefly into the kids’ rooms and let them know she was home, before making her way to the master bathroom. After splashing some cold water on her face, she smoothed down her hair and appraised her reflection. A nerve twitched in her face, betraying the terror writhing around inside her. Maybe she should have told the police she wanted a lawyer present. Too late now. She wished Steve was here. It was all his fault to begin with, why should she have to handle this on her own? Bridget leaned on the sink and let out a beleaguered sigh. There was nothing else for it but to head back out and face the music.

  Seated in an armchair in the family room, she arranged a neutral expression on her face, tilting it expectantly toward the officers. “What can I help you with?”

  “As you know,” Detective Wright began, “we had an anonymous tip that Jen Carson was seen exiting your husband’s office building on Friday evening.”

  Bridget gave an indifferent shrug. “He’s already explained to you that Jen met with him to get some financial advice.”

  “Right.” The detective nodded thoughtfully, rubbing a hand over his jaw. ”The thing is, we've been reviewing some CCTV footage outside the building and it appears that your car was parked on the other side of the street when Jen Carson exited the building.”

  12

  Bridget swallowed the uncomfortable knot that had formed in her throat. Officer Lopez was staring intently at her, the disarming smile that usually rested on his lips at odds with the quizzical gleam in his eyes. Her hands shifted restlessly in her lap as her brain raced ahead, trying to guess where Detective Wright was going with this. Was he hinting that he knew it was her who’d called in the anonymous tip? Or was it more insidious—was he implying that she had something to do with Jen Carson’s death?

  She startled at the sound of the front door opening. Seconds later, Steve burst into the family room, a thunderous look on his face. “What's going on here?” His eyes darted between the officers and Bridget.

  She blinked up at her husband, disconcerted by his opportune arrival. How did he know the police were back? Had they called him? Her head began to throb at a terrifying thought. Maybe they were going to arrest her, and they’d asked Steve to come home to be with the kids.

  “Why don’t you take a seat please, Steve,” Detective Wright said in a placating tone. “I’ll explain everything.”

  Steve clenched and unclenched his fists, before complying and sinking down in the chair next to Bridget. As if reading the question in her eyes, he leaned over and murmured in her ear. “Henry texted me about the police car parked outside. I didn’t realize you were home.”

  “I just got here,” Bridget mumbled in return.

  Turning his attention back to the officers, Steve said through gritted teeth, “I would have preferred if you’d stopped by my office and talked to me directly with any follow up questions, instead of traumatizing my family like this.”

  A flicker of pity zipped across Detective Wright’s face. “As a matter of fact, Steve, it was your wife we wanted to talk to. We reviewed some CCTV footage outside Bartlett and Hartman to determine what time Jen Carson exited the building on Friday.” He paused, a taut expression on his face. “In the process, we discovered that your wife's car was parked on the road opposite your office at the exact time Jen Carson left.”

  Steve blinked, his brow rumpling as he digested the information. He swiveled his head and threw a disbelieving look at Bridget, before turning back to the detective. “I … don't understand.”

  Detective Wright rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “That's why we're here. To try and und
erstand exactly what your wife was doing outside your office on Friday night.” He raised his brows expectantly at Bridget.

  The room spun slowly around her. She couldn't help noticing that Officer Lopez’s permanent smile had slipped, replaced by a leaden look. Kind of like how she felt inside. Detective Wright had begun picking at the threads of the case and everything was beginning to unravel, only now she was implicated in it. ”I … I did stop by the office briefly,” she stammered. “I brought my husband some dinner. I took off again a few minutes after Jen Carson drove out of the parking lot.”

  Steve stared at her with a look of utter bewilderment. His lips parted, but he closed them again, as if deciding against mentioning the fact that she hadn’t actually delivered a meal to him.

  The door to the family room opened and Harper peeked in before darting across the room to Bridget. “My tummy hurts,” she whispered in her ear.

  Bridget picked her up and cuddled her in her lap, burying her face in her daughter’s hair to buy herself a moment or two to compose herself. “Mommy will just be a few more minutes, and then I'll get you something for your tummy.”

  Harper snuggled into her chest, and promptly closed her eyes.

  Officer Wright cleared his throat. “Do you remember what time you dropped dinner off with your husband?”

  Bridget averted her eyes. ”I … realized when I pulled up at the office that I'd left the plate of food in the kitchen.”

  A wide-eyed Harper wriggled upright in her lap. ”No you didn't, Mommy! I saw you carrying it.”

  Bridget's cheeks flushed. “Yes, well, what I meant to say is that I thought I’d forgotten it, and in my confusion I drove all the way home before I remembered that I’d put it in the trunk of the car.” She kept her eyes fixed on Detective Wright, only too aware of Steve's indignant gaze boring into her. She could sense the gears in his brain whirring as he put two and two together. She’d been parked outside his office on Friday evening. She’d seen Jen Carson exit the building. Someone had called in an anonymous tip to the Crime Line. It didn't take a genius to figure out who it was.

  Harper squirmed down from her lap. “I’m going to play in my room.”

  Bridget brushed a strand of hair out of her daughter’s face. “Are you feeling better now?”

  Harper gave a breezy nod and bounded out the door.

  Detective Wright leaned forward in his chair, a troubled look on his face. “Bridget, you said you drove off a few minutes after Jen Carson exited the company parking lot. You didn't happen to see which direction she drove in, did you?”

  Bridget swallowed down her mounting trepidation. Surely, they didn’t imagine for one minute that she’d stalked Jen and killed her in a fit of rage over her dalliance with Steve. “If you're asking me if I followed her, I didn’t.”

  Detective Wright raised his brows. “Did you have any reason to follow her?”

  “What's that supposed to mean?” Steve cut in.

  “I’d prefer if you let your wife answer the question,” Detective Wright replied, his tone unruffled but unwavering.

  Bridget wet her lips. “I admit, it threw me off at first, seeing a woman exit the building. I knew Steve was working late alone. I … wasn't sure what to make of it at first. But I didn't follow her. I went straight home.” She hesitated before adding in a remonstrative tone. “I’m sure you’ve already deduced as much from the CCTV footage.”

  Detective Wright didn’t react to her cloaked reproach. Instead, he flicked through his notepad, as if to recap what he’d gathered so far. “I'm sure you can understand our position. This is a murder investigation, and you two were the last people to see Jen Carson alive, as far as we know—”

  “You mean other than her killer,” Steve interrupted angrily.

  Detective Wright dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Like I said, you were the last ones to see her alive, as far as we know. Naturally, that raises some questions.”

  “I didn't lay a hand on her,” Steve said. “I told you she wanted some financial advice. And that’s what I gave her. Are you really suggesting that my wife followed her and killed her?”

  The detective scratched his temple. “Do you think that's a possibility, Steve? Would she have any reason to?”

  A deep flush crept up Steve’s neck. He stood and gestured to the door. “I’d like you to leave now. We've been as helpful as we can possibly be, and I don't like your insinuations.”

  Detective Wright tilted his chin in Officer Lopez’s direction and got to his feet. “We appreciate your cooperation.”

  “No, I don't think you do,” Steve shot back. “If you've anything more to say to either me or my wife, you can inform our lawyer.”

  Detective Wright betrayed no surprise at the acrimonious turn in the conversation. ”If you feel you need to retain a lawyer, you’re certainly well within your rights.” He nodded to Bridget. “We'll see ourselves out.”

  As soon as the front door closed behind them, Steve wheeled and glared at Bridget. “Do you want to tell me what's going on? Have you been spying on me?“

  Bridget gulped, contemplating her answer. Yes, and I know you met with Keith Carson after Jen was killed. “What do you mean? Of course not! I made you dinner and I was going to drop it off at the office. I wanted to do something nice for you, like the old days, remember those?”

  “You wanted to do something nice? Is that what you call tipping off the police to the fact that Jen was at my office on Friday night?” Steve’s lip curled in disgust. “Don't even bother denying it. I know it was you who called the Crime Line.”

  Bridget’s voice broke as salty tears pricked her eyes. Her mind flashed back to the email thread between Steve and Jen. ”What was I supposed to think when I saw that woman leaving your office? You've been working late for months on end. You rarely spend any time with the kids or me anymore. You’ve been obsessing over something. Why wouldn’t I think you were having an affair when all the signs pointed to it?”

  “I can't believe you’re accusing me of cheating. I’ve never been unfaithful to you,” Steve said, sounding deflated all of a sudden. The emotion seemed to have drained from him, leaving only sadness in its wake. “I know things haven’t been great between us lately. Work’s been extremely stressful. We’re short staffed, not to mention the fact that we're getting into tax season again. The company's numbers don't look good. We may even have to lay some people off. So yes, I'm worried and distracted—worried and distracted about how I'm going to take care of my family.”

  Bridget rubbed her hands over her face. A momentary wave of guilt washed over her. He sounded so genuine. Could there be another explanation for all of this, something she was missing? Maybe Steve had borrowed money from Keith, and then Keith had blackmailed him into getting rid of Jen’s body.

  ”I'm sorry,” Bridget answered wearily. “It's just that we don't talk anymore, and I didn't know what was going on at work. If you’d just opened up to me, I wouldn’t have suspected you of having an affair. But, when you were obviously hiding something from me, I just …” She shrugged, helplessly. “Naturally, I thought the worst when I saw Jen leaving your office.”

  Steve nodded, his expression softening. He stepped toward her and folded her in his arms. “It’s my own fault. I should have told you what was going on with the company. I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want you worrying about it, but all I’ve done is made you worry about far worse things than losing my job. I love you, Bridget. I would never intentionally do anything to hurt you. You do believe that, don't you? I need you to believe me. We have to support each other from now on, we need to have each other’s backs. The police are sniffing around looking for someone to pin this murder on. If we're not on the same page, it makes us look suspicious.”

  Bridget’s thoughts flashed to finding the body in the trunk of Steve’s Mercedes. He still wasn’t coming clean with everything. If he hadn’t killed Jen, why had he agreed to get rid of the body? And why had he secretly met with Keith at
The Muddy Cup? She had to keep him talking now that he was finally opening up to her. At all costs, she had to get to the truth. “Do you think there's any chance Keith could have murdered his wife?” she whispered, not wanting Harper to inadvertently overhear her if she made another unexpected appearance.

  Steve sighed and rubbed a hand over his scalp. “I can't say I haven’t asked myself the same question, but it's hard to believe he would kill his own son’s mother.”

  “Did Jen ever mention that she was afraid of him?” Bridget asked.

  “Not to me. She was more worried about him trying to hide the company’s assets prior to their divorce. It was his money after all—well, his dad's to begin with. His dad founded the company, but Keith has taken it to new heights since—tripled its value.”

  “So Jen married into money,” Bridget said softly

  The furrow between Steve’s eyes deepened. “I suppose that does give Keith a motive. Jen was attempting to secure half their assets—enough to bring the company to its knees.”

  13

  The following day passed in a dizzying haze as Bridget divvied up her time between making sure her parents had everything they needed to aid her mom’s recovery and trying to keep her own family life operating as normally as possible under the circumstances. In between school runs, she spent several hours helping her mom get dressed and ready for the day, and then picking up groceries and prescriptions, as well as preparing lunch and something for their evening meal.

  Keith was back at the police station being interviewed again, with no end in sight to the interrogations, and he’d asked if Quinn could come home with Henry after school and stay with them for the next few days. “I hate to put you out,” he explained to Bridget over the phone, “But my father’s still recovering from his little episode, and he’s not up to driving.

  “It’s no trouble at all,” Bridget assured him, fighting to keep the quiver out of her voice. She told herself she was doing it for Quinn’s sake. Her feelings toward Keith Carson fluctuated wildly between pity and suspicion, guilt and revulsion. Some part of her desperately wanted to believe that he had killed Jen, only because it was immeasurably preferable to the alternative—that her husband was a cold-blooded murderer.