The Perfect Affair (25 page)

T
wo days had passed. Nothing had changed. Sherri knew he was watching, could imagine the look on his face without turning around. Randall. Helpless. He didn’t feel this way very often; this she knew. That her actions were causing him this pain did not make her happy. But it didn’t change the course of her actions. She was hurting too.

“Is there anything at all that I can say? Anything I can do?”

She’d known the question was coming. Randall’s was an analytical, problem-solving mind. It was probably driving him crazy that he couldn’t find an immediate solution to this problem.

“I just need space,” Sherri said, walking past him to the closet to pull out more clothes. “I need time to think, to process all that’s happened.”

Randall walked over to stand beside Sherri. Close enough to touch her, but he didn’t. “I don’t see how space right now will bring us closer together.”

Finally, Sherri turned to face him. “Perhaps not, but it’s what I need.”

Randall watched helplessly as Sherri walked into the master bath and placed a variety of toiletries in a tote bag. “None of it’s true, babe,” he finally said. Silence. “We’re thinking with our emotions,” he continued, probably encouraged that he didn’t get shut down flat out. “I mean, think about it. I’m a rational person; I think everything out. Right? So why would I develop a relationship with someone, tell you about her, introduce you to her, and then keep up a written dialogue with that person on my personal laptop? I have computers at the office. Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to keep something that I’m trying to hide out of my house?

“And using that logic, wouldn’t it also stand to reason that I wouldn’t invite the other woman to PSI headquarters to have sex, surrounded by employees and colleagues and my executive assistant right outside my office, in the middle of the day?”

“Dicks are dumb,” Sherri said, remembering the line from a blog that her friend Renee had sent her. Who was the blog’s author? Mary something or other.
Mary B. Morrison. Yeah, that’s her.
At the time Sherri had received it, she’d thought it entertaining reading but nothing that related to her. What a difference a couple months made. “Granted, you’re intelligent, but most of the time in these situations, men think with the wrong head.”

“Sherri, I’m telling you—”

“I know, Randall,” Sherri snapped, losing patience. “You’re telling me, and you’ve told me the same things forever. But stop for just one minute and look at this situation from my perspective. Stop and listen to yourself. You say you’re not having an affair, yet I get a video emailed to me of a woman in your office, kneeling, with your dick in her hands! Now, in light of this irrefutable evidence, even Mother Teresa would have reached her limit, even Jesus himself would have said hell to the no.”

She walked over to her dresser and began pulling out underwear. Slowly, she lifted out a lacy, white thong, at least two sizes too small for her. She turned to Randall. “This isn’t mine.”

“What do you mean, they’re not yours?”

“I can’t, Randall. I. Just. Can’t.” Sherri pressed her fingers against her temples. She felt a doozy of a headache coming on. “If you’re smart, you’ll let me leave now,” she finally said, tossing her underwear in before closing the hard plastic suitcase. “Don’t bother calling. I don’t know when will be the next time that I want to talk to you.”

She took the luggage off the bed and placed it near the door.Then she walked out of the master suite without looking back.

Randall watched her leave, feeling a part of himself leaving with her. He’d heard from the private investigator and knew that they’d tracked down where Jacqueline lived, with a man whose description sounded like Phillip, and were waiting for the perfect opportunity to get inside the row house and search it out. But time was running out, both on his patience and on his marriage. He didn’t have a thug, gangster, or burglar bone in his body but he might have to take the matter of finding out the truth about Jacqueline into his own hands. A part of him wanted to run after his wife, do whatever it took to keep her in Virginia. But he knew that nothing he said right now would matter, plus he didn’t want to make a scene in front of the kids.

A
s soon as she reached her room, Jacqueline slammed the door shut and pulled off her wig. “Dammit!”

“What’s going on, girl?”

In her frustration, Jacqueline had almost forgotten that Kris had showed up in Raleigh late last night. “That old coot is starting to get on my nerves,” she said, plopping down on the queen-size bed. “Going on and on about cooking and her stupid flowers. And I have to sit there and act interested, happy to help her.”

“Help her how?”

“The woman’s loony; can’t remember where she puts things.”

“That doesn’t sound good. How sick is she?”

“Who cares? I’ve got bigger problems to worry about.”

Jacqueline had been thrilled to learn that Sherri was coming to visit her mother. It was exactly the chance that she’d been waiting for. Then came the last conversation she’d monitored, the one that had put a wrench in her plans.

“Have you figured out what you’re going to do yet? I know you want to get rid of her, but what about the others?”

“Geez, I don’t know.” Jacqueline ran a harried hand through her hair as she sat up, then stood and began to pace the room. “It will be my pleasure to take out Sherri, but that she is no longer coming alone has definitely thrown a hitch in my plans.”

“What about the mom?”

“What about her?”

“Are you going to let her live?”

Jacqueline thought about it, heaving a sigh. “If she’s lucky.”

“When is the last time you talked to Randall?” Kris asked.

“Not since he threatened to contact
Science Today
.”

“Do you think he’d really call them?”

“No, but Sherri would. She’s pressuring him, believe me. He’s not acting on his own.”

“What if he is?”

“He’s not! He loves me, and that’s all that matters.”

“Of course, Jacqueline. You are right. So . . . Sherri is coming tomorrow. What’s the plan?”

 

Miss Elaine hummed softly as she walked among the gardens in her large back yard. Near the back patio were her flower gardens, filled with irises, leopard plants, larkspur, asters, and geraniums. It had been weeks since she’d felt this healthy. She credited that sweet girl Wanda, with her pleasant nature and attentive care.
Hard to believe that loneliness may have been part of my illness
, she thought with a chuckle as she bent to smell a flower. Now she’d admit that this may have been true. She’d fought Sherri’s notion of her needing someone living with her but already felt that if Wanda had to leave for some reason, especially with Constance spending so much time in St. Louis with her children, she didn’t know what she’d do.

She straightened and looked behind her. The vegetable garden was in full bloom and could rate in any farmer’s market. Greens of several varieties—cabbage, spinach, peppers, lettuce, onions, tomatoes, squash, and okra—all raised their leaves to heaven as if as thankful for the afternoon sunshine as Miss Elaine herself. She gazed at the garden patch lovingly as she neared it, remembering the years that she and her husband would share conversation as they picked weeds.

“Looks like we’ve got a few,” she mumbled, reaching between the okra stems and pulling up errant weeds. She continued walking and snatched a few more. Normally, she paid a neighborhood child to come over a couple times a month and weed the garden, but today, for the first time in a while, Miss Elaine was thankful to feel able enough to do it herself. “Let me go get my hat and my gloves and my weeder . . . ,” she said to herself as she walked toward the backdoor. “And I’ll be all set.”

She entered the house, crossed the kitchen, and went down the hallway toward the basement stairs. Another project lovingly overseen by her husband, they’d been proud to turn the unfinished underground area into one that now boasted a guest bedroom, large, airy den, and storage room. Crossing the den toward the storage room, she paused at the sound of a woman’s voice. It was strong and animated.

Miss Elaine took a couple more steps, until she heard the next comment. “Don’t worry about her finding out, Kris. You can stay here as long as me.”

She turned around.
Who’s this talking about staying in my home?
It couldn’t be Wanda. That sweet child would never do something as presumptive as that. But someone was in her house and since they were in the guest room with Wanda, she had to know them.
They’re probably just over for a visit.
Miss Elaine stood there, listening.

“Her flight arrives at one fifty,” she heard the woman saying. “She’s renting a car and will be here by two thirty. Somehow, I need to get her separated from her mom and the kids, give her the shot, and then make sure we’re all together when the poison takes effect.”

Miss Elaine’s eyes widened as she heard this. Surely she couldn’t have heard correctly.
Maybe they’re talking about a movie or something, or a book that they’ve read.
Any other thought was simply too foreign for the kindhearted mother of two to comprehend. Again, there were voices. She leaned forward instinctively, trying to hear what the Kris woman was saying. She couldn’t hear the other woman and decided to move closer.

Wait a minute. This is my house. Let me go in here, talk to Wanda, find out who’s visiting and exactly what’s going on.
She started to announce herself and then for some reason changed her mind. Instead of calling out Wanda’s name as she’d started to, she became even quieter, walking on tiptoe toward the door that was only slightly ajar. She reached it, raised her hand to knock, and then froze at the next words spoken.

“With any luck she’ll be dead before nightfall. And then Randall will be all mine.”

Miss Elaine clamped her hand over her mouth to keep from crying out. She took one step backward and then another, trying to convince herself that she’d really heard what she knew had been spoken. Who was the woman talking to? Was her name Kris? And where was Wanda? Too many questions without enough answers.
Let me go and call Sherri. Warn her about what’s happening. And then I’ll call the police and get these people out of my house.

She reached the first step and cringed as it creaked. Funny, but she’d never paid much mind to it before. Then again, she’d never had to sneak around in her own home. She waited a few seconds, not realizing that she was holding her breath as she did. She turned and looked toward the almost-closed door to the guest room. It was quiet, but no one came to the door to investigate the sound. She hoped they hadn’t heard it as she went up the stairs as quickly and quietly as she could. Once she reached the top, she raced toward her phone where it lay on the kitchen counter. Her hands began to shake as she dialed.
Come on, baby. Please, Sherri. Hurry up and answer your phone!

 

Jacqueline stopped in mid-sentence. “Did you hear that?”

“What?” Kris answered.

“That sound?”

Kris followed Jacqueline’s gaze to the door. “No, I didn’t hear anything.”

“Hmm, maybe I’m just being paranoid.”

“You?” Kris said in a playful, sarcastic tone. “Never!” Jacqueline laughed and then just as quickly her smile flipped and she rushed to the door. Yanking it open, she looked left and right before focusing on a plant situated on a table by the stairway. The leaves were swaying, which meant one thing. Someone had just walked by it.

She looked at Kris in sheer frustration. There was no time to don her Wanda façade. “Darn it! We may have just gotten busted. I’ll be right back.”

Jacqueline took strong, determined strides over to the stairway and then, bypassing the first step that she knew creaked, quickly snuck up the remaining stairs. As quiet as a mouse, she tiptoed down the hallway, sticking her head around the doorway, trying to locate the whereabouts of Miss Elaine. In the end she only had to follow the voice.

“Sherri, baby, pick up! This is my third time calling. Oh Lord, I hope you haven’t gotten on the plane and turned off your phone. You need to . . .” Miss Elaine’s voice tapered off as she felt a presence behind her and felt a hand slowly closing around the back of her neck. She turned around.

Hang it up
, Jacqueline mouthed.

Miss Elaine complied as she looked at Jacqueline in confusion. “Who are you and what have you done with Wanda?”

“Sit down, Elaine,” Jacqueline said, giving the older woman a little shove as incentive to move. “I’m going to tell you a story and it might take a while. But I want you to listen closely and do exactly what I tell you. The life you save may be your own.”

R
andall stood as the private investigator came into his office and closed the door. “Lay it on me, Doug. What did you find out?”

“A lot. You need to prepare yourself. It’s pretty far-out.”

Randall sat. “I can’t believe it’s any more incredible than what’s already happened.”

“It is. Trust me.” The detective laid a folder filled with pictures on Randall’s desk. “Those are pictures from where I just left. The home of Phillip Bochinsky.”

“My God,” Randall said as he began to flip through. He picked up one picture to study it. “Looks more like a computer lab.”

“Those are monitors that I believe are attached to cameras placed in your home.” Randall’s head shot up. “You mentioned that she knew what type of bed you slept in and seemed to know your every move. I believe this is how.

“There was a master control missing, which prevented me from turning on the computers or monitors. But don’t worry. I already have a friend at the station working on a search warrant so that everything in that room can be legally confiscated.”

“Those cameras are the least of my worries. Somehow, just the other day, she emailed this to both me and my wife.” Randall walked over to his computer. “As much as I hate to show it, you have to see this.”

Doug walked to where he could see the screen. Randall pushed play on the short video clip of them Jacqueline had taken.

“My God.”

“It’s not what it looks like,” Randall quickly offered. “I have absolutely no recollection of this happening. But I clearly remember the day she came by my office. One minute we were talking and the next minute I was being awakened by my assistant, late for a conference call. She said she’d been trying to wake me for several minutes. I was groggy the rest of the day.”

“She drugged you, most likely. How long ago did this happen?” Randall told him. “Unfortunately, any evidence has probably disappeared by now.”

“It’s likely that she’s monitored your family’s every move, at least while you’re home. With your permission, I have a guy prepared to come and sweep your office for electronics. That tape confirms that this office is also bugged. Perhaps your car as well.”

Randall continued to look through the stack of information. “What type of woman would do something like this?”

“A very troubled one, who from the looks of it may have done far worse.”

“Like what?”

“Jacqueline Tate grew up as Jamie Barnes, in poverty, in a small country province in Canada. Her parents were abusive: mother, physically; father, sexually. When Jamie, or Jacqueline if you will, was ten, her parents died in a fire. It was officially ruled as an accident though the authorities believed otherwise. They just couldn’t prove it.”

“Are you saying that she killed her parents?”

“And a sibling, from the looks of things. Early records allude to a younger sister but after the fire, all traces of her vanish. As the lone survivor, Jacqueline was the sole beneficiary of a very large insurance policy.”

Randall sat back in his chair, shell-shocked. “She told me a version of this story. I felt compassion. My heart may have gone out to a murderer.”

“She was sent to an orphanage until she was sixteen, and there were a couple stints in mental institutions after that, until she left the system at eighteen years old. I uncovered a friend in Canada, a woman named Kaitlyn. She knew Jacqueline was troubled, but described her as very good person who’d gotten some very bad breaks. I found a few other people who knew her; an elderly neighbor is watching her cat.”

“What about the job with
Science Today
?”

“That’s legit. For the most part, her professional resume checks out, and nothing else stood out until recently. She was suspected of the theft of several designer dresses and shoes in LA, but the items were all recovered by housekeeping staff at the Ritz.”

Randall stood, and began to pace the room. “Where is she now?”

Doug shook his head. “More than likely, after sending that tape, she’s lying low, waiting for the fallout to dissipate. Because of the hidden cameras she undoubtedly knows that Sherri has left you and is in North Carolina. She’s probably under the impression that with your wife out of the picture you’ll now see the light. You have to understand that while this seems totally ridiculous, you two being in a relationship is completely real in her mind. For all intents and purposes, you are her husband.

“Oh, and there’s one more thing.” Doug reached into his pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “Among her things I found an address and phone number for a woman named Wanda Smith. Do you know her?”

“That’s the caretaker living with my mother-in-law.”

“I tried calling the number and it keeps going to voice mail.”

“Why would she have the name of Mom Elaine’s caretaker?” He stopped, an incredible thought coming to his mind. He raced to the phone, to call Sherri.

Doug watched as Randall tapped the screen and placed a call that went to voicemail.

“Sherri, please call me. This is an emergency. Call as soon as you get this message. I love you.”

He placed the phone on the desk and continued to pace. Doug walked over and picked up his phone. He snapped off the silver disc. “Who gave you this?”

Randall turned and looked. “Jacqueline. It’s helps to prevent radiation from . . . no.”

Doug nodded as for Randall, realization dawned. “She’s got connections. This is sophisticated. It’s a camera, recording device and tracker, all in one.”

“Dammit! There’s one on Sherri’s phone, too.” He snatched his phone from Doug and called his mother-in-law. That call too went to voicemail. “I’ve got to get a hold of somebody in North Carolina. Make sure they’re all right. I’m starting to get a very bad feeling about this, Doug. A very bad feeling.”