A Dangerous Affair (30 page)

Jamie scrubbed the bathrooms and the kitchen. She polished furniture to remove any trace of dust. She washed windows until the glass appeared invisible. She sorted clothes, folded towels, and paid the bills—anything to distract herself from the guilt stuck to her like warm syrup.

A prisoner in her own home, she'd discovered a newfound freedom, an emotional escape she could exercise at her own discretion while her husband attended to his business on the road. She'd shared herself with another man for reasons she failed to completely understand. In a moment of weakness, she'd severed her marital vows the instant Lloyd Sullivan penetrated her behind a wall of library books. In the wake of her indiscretion, she'd buried her remorse and met him again, despite her misgivings about their first rendezvous.

What happened, happened. She could neither undo the tawdry events nor erase them from her memory. She could only move forward with her normal routine and pretend to find happiness in the role of Mrs. Alan Blanchart. A role she'd grown adept at tolerating.

She jumped when the doorbell rang.

No one ever came to the front door. Not even Alan, unless a power outage knocked out the garage door opener.

The doorbell chimed a second time.

"Who is it?" she called out.

Through the blinds, she saw a taxi drive away from her house.

Paranoia rippled through her. Does Lloyd know my address? Did he follow me home? What if a neighbor saw him? What if Alan comes home early?

She checked the peephole and opened the door, relieved to greet the only friend she stayed in touch with. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Surprise!" said Samantha. She waved her arms in the air above her tube top shirt. Gold bracelets jingled on her wrists.

Jamie hugged her. "Seriously. What are you doing here?"

Samantha rolled her luggage into the house and dropped her Dolce&Gabbana handbag on the floor. She smiled through glossy lips, her face painted tastefully with Bobbi Brown hues harmonizing her eyes and hair. "It's your birthday, girlfriend."

"Not for two more days."

"So shoot me. I wanted to surprise you."

"You're lucky I was home," said Jamie.

"Lucky? You look like you just came back from a funeral. I thought you'd be happy to see me."

"I am," said Jamie. "I just wasn't expecting you so soon." She brought Samantha's luggage to the guest room and parked the bags by the bed. "It's not the Ritz, but it's comfy. I keep fresh sheets on the mattress. There are clean towels in the bathroom."

* * *

Samantha followed Jamie to the vaulted living room where plastic sheets covered the furniture opposite a grainy, black and white portrait of Alan's grandmother above the fireplace mantel. The house felt cavernous compared to her studio apartment. "This house is so much bigger than your other one."

"We thought we needed more space..."

"You look great," said Samantha, trying to keep the conversation on a happy note. She glanced at the baseboards that glistened like wet paint. The polished coffee table reflected the china cabinet with rows of crystal stemware perfectly aligned inside. "It's so quiet out here."

"Alan likes the privacy. Most of our neighbors are snowbirds."

"Is Alan home?"

"He's been traveling, but he'll be back early tonight."

Samantha roamed around the house. "I'm in the mood for a martini."

"We don't have vodka."

"Then let's make margaritas."

"I don't have tequila either."

Samantha stared through the sliding glass doors at the sparkling pool outside. "What
do you
have?"

"There's beer in the fridge."

"You're kidding, right?"

"Alan likes beer."

Samantha opened the glass doors and stepped onto the pool deck overlooking a spacious backyard with a storage shed and a view of the nature preserve extending beyond the property line. "Then let's go to happy hour."

"I can't," said Jamie.

"Why not?"

"I made dinner for Alan. We always eat dinner together when he gets home."

"I think he'll survive one meal without you."

"He's been on the road," said Jamie. "Tonight's important to him."

Samantha let it go. She dipped her hand in the pool. The warm water felt good. "So what's up with you?"

"Not much. You want something to drink? I've got water and ice tea. There's also diet soda in the fridge."

Samantha dried her hand on her Lucky jeans. "Why do you always change the subject when I ask you a question you don't want to answer?"

"I just asked you if you want a drink?"

"That's what I'm talking about," Samantha complained. "You hardly call any more. You never visit. I haven't seen you in like a year."

"I've been really busy."

"Doing what?"

"Stuff. I volunteer at the library. I keep the house in order. Alan likes everything to be in order."

Samantha wiped her finger on the spotless coffee table. "So what do you do for fun?"

"Alan and I go out all the time."

"I meant for
you
."

Jamie went to the kitchen and filled a glass from the water dispenser in the fridge. "I'm married now. I spend my free time with Alan."

Samantha stretched out in the chaise lounge beside the pool. "No drinks, no job, no parties, no friends. How do you live like this?"

"I have friends."

"Who?"

"Lots."

"I meant friends who live in Florida. If it wasn't for me, none of the other girls would even know you still exist. You're so sheltered down here all tucked away in your Mayberry town."

"I like Mayberry," said Jamie. "Just because you live in a big city doesn't mean I have the same desire. You're always worried about what I should or shouldn't do. I'm turning forty in two days. I'm not in college anymore. I don't dance on tables or do tequila shots until I'm wasted. Life's always been one big party for you. It's not the same for me."

"Maybe it should be. You're turning forty, not eighty. Loosen up. It's not like you've got a family to take care of."

Samantha thought about her comment after the fact. The topic of Jamie's stillborn son was out of bounds, even for a BFF. "I'm sorry. That's not what I meant. I'm just saying you're not burdened with a ton of responsibility. You should take more time for yourself, that's all. Ever since you got married, you've become like this different person."

"People grow up. People change. We're not kids anymore, Samantha."

"I think your husband's too controlling," Samantha blurted. "There. I said it. You can hate me if you want to, but it's true. He micromanages your life. I can't tell where he leaves off and you begin."

Jamie got up when she heard the garage door open. "Alan's
particular
. That's all."

* * *

Alan finished his dinner plate and retreated to his study, leaving Jamie and her uninvited guest to clear the dishes. Locked inside his own sanctuary, he sat at his computer desk and reviewed the log of inbound and outbound calls from the landline phone. He found two outbound calls he made to his mother and several inbound calls from telemarketers, but nothing to warrant further scrutiny.

He checked the video server for digital footage captured on the hidden cameras placed throughout the house. Prerecorded images appeared on separate twenty-one-inch monitors covering the main living areas as well as each bedroom, bathroom, and the garage.

He fast-forwarded through the majority of the seventy-two-hour log, bouncing his gaze from one image to the next. He found nothing unusual at first, until he reached a bathroom sequence with Jamie primping herself in the mirror.

He read the time stamp and questioned why his wife felt the need to paint her face and do her hair at six forty-five in the evening. He dragged the mouse and skipped two hours ahead to find Jamie hauling a load of groceries from the car at eight thirty-five. He watched her unload the food in the kitchen, and he watched her shower before she went to bed.

He closed the file and clicked on the live feed from the hidden camera tucked inside the guest bathroom's exhaust vent. He adjusted the wide angle view and pressed record to capture his female visitor. Aroused by the thought of Samantha naked, he touched himself and played out a violent fantasy. No woman knew him the way Jamie did, but not even his wife could tempt his pleasure the way a stranger in his own house could.

He switched cameras and observed Jamie and her girlfriend lingering in the kitchen. He zoomed on Samantha's breasts, determined to exploit her feminine features in his twisted imagination. It felt good to be home. Content in familiar surroundings.

He touched the staples in his scalp and relived the final moments of the Costa family's life while he stared at Samantha's image on the screen. The tingling sensation brought him to the edge of climax before his cell phone rang and shattered his private moment of reverie.

"Blanchart," he answered on the fifth ring.

"Sorry to bother you at home, Sheriff."

Blanchart recognized the deputy's voice. "What is it?"

"I dumped the cell phone records like you asked. The phone's registered to a Sheila Jarvis on Pinkerton Street. It's a trailer park near—"

"I know where it is."

"Her last call went out to a Josh Sullivan. I pulled his DMV record and got a last known address at the same location. You want me to pick him up?"

"No," Blanchart answered decisively. "I'll take it from here."

Chapter 45

Jamie relaxed in a pool-side lounge chair with a baggy shirt over her one-piece swimsuit. Sheltered from the gecko lizards, garden snakes, and other creepy crawlers outside the screened lanai, she sipped her margarita through a straw, compliments of Alan, who'd bought the margarita mix and the bottle of top shelf tequila to go with it. A special gift for a special celebration, he had told her before he went on duty.

Samantha finished her second margarita in her favorite pink bikini and her D&G shades. "I could get used to this—especially with the Cuervo buzz I'm getting."

Jamie crossed her legs and looked over at her friend. "I'm glad you're here."

"Me too."

Jamie sipped her margarita until a brain freeze set in. "So tell me about this guy you met online. Is he cute?"

"He's cute enough," said Samantha.

"What else?"

"We met at a coffee shop in Manhattan and talked." Samantha smiled. "Nothing happened."

"Did you leave together?"

Samantha licked the salt on the rim of her glass. "What kind of girl do you think I am?"

"Desperate."

"I am not."

"You said so yourself."

"When?"

"The last time we talked."

"Like you remember what we said."

Jamie tapped her head. "Like a steel trap."

"You're full of shit."

Jamie laughed, something she hadn't done in a long time. It felt good. "You said your vibrator batteries went dead."

Samantha blushed. "Stop it."

"So what happened on this date?" Jamie pressed her closest friend. "What is it you're not telling me?"

"Honestly, he was cheesy like all the rest. He didn't even look like his picture. He uploaded his brother's photo online because, and get this, he told me, 'The camera makes me look fat.'" Samantha laughed until it hurt. "The camera didn't give him bad breath. Or the bushy eyebrows and the big honking nose."

Jamie touched Samantha's arm. "You're so mean. I'm sure he wasn't that bad."

"He was cheap, too. I had to pay for my own coffee."

Jamie chuckled. "You can't find a good man on the Internet. There are too many creeps out there. You never know who you'll end up with."

Samantha slurped the bottom of her glass through her straw. "I think all the good men got beamed into a spaceship and shipped to another planet to be sex slaves for some dying race."