The Sunday Wife: A Lockdown Thriller Read online

  Welcome to Seaport.

  Population 600.

  I read the sign over and over, wondering where exactly Seaport was. I continued walking, eyes on the busier downtown section that this street led to. I grinned, unbelieving of my luck when a sign grew larger.

  Seaport Motel - Vacant

  “Seaport, how cute.” I slipped my gloves off of my hands, then freed my shoes from the snowshoes and stepped out of them. I carried them over my back the rest of the way to the front steps of the Seaport Motel.

  My new home for the night.

  I imagined bursting through the doors and screaming at the top of my lungs that I’d been kidnapped. I needed the police, the secret service, and federal agents to track down the man that’d left me at the top of that mountain to die alone. I curled my fingers around the doorknob, forcing my brain to push forward as I stepped into the motel lobby.

  A heavyset man with a long dark beard was hunched over the reception desk, a capped syringe between his teeth as he focused on something out of my view.

  “Hello?” I ventured, unwilling to turn back now.

  He dropped the syringe from his teeth and shot out of his chair. “A beautiful day for snowshoeing!”

  I jumped in my boots when the man behind the counter boomed.

  “Y-yes,” I agreed quickly, pushing my knit hat further down my brow. “Do you have a room for the night?”

  “Sure do. Haven’t had a guest in weeks, we’ve always got room.”

  “Weeks?”

  He shrugged. “Forty-five dollars a night, just started our special, off-season rate.”

  I nodded, passing him my credit card.

  “Cash only.”

  “Cash only?” I panicked, searching through the folds of my small wallet for dollars. “Is that even a thing anymore?”

  “It is here. Some teenagers screwed me in chargebacks, so I made cash king again.”

  “Nice.” My fingers shook as I finally wedged a tightly folded hundred dollar bill I kept only for emergencies out of my wallet.

  “The last guest, was he tall with dark hair and dark blue eyes?”

  The man behind the counter cut me an interested look. “Maybe.”

  “Did you get his name?”

  “Don’t ask for names when you pay in cash.” He slammed my change on the counter, the key to my room on top of it. “If you see him tell him he owes me forty bucks for the dirty movies he ordered on my account.”

  “Your account?” I tucked the bills back into my wallet.

  “Sonuvabitch hacked my wifi.”

  I froze with his last word.

  Clasping the key in my hand, I backed away from the counter, waving once at the man.

  He waved me off, lifting a stack of newspapers off of the desk as he grumbled something I couldn’t hear.

  It was the familiar face on the front page that caught my eye.

  “You son of a rotten mother fu—”

  The man’s face twisted as I advanced on him.

  “Can I have that newspaper?” I seethed.

  “This? Not supposed to sell it, it’s a day old. Never got today’s paper though, so I figured—”

  “I don’t care about that,” I tore one of the papers from his hands, unfolding it quickly. It was an article about someone running for office. I searched the text for Tav’s name, trying to figure out why he would be on the campaign trail smiling with some politician. I glanced at the grainy black and white image, wondering if I was seeing things again.

  “Maybe it’s not him.”

  “Oh that’s him alright.” One fat stub of a finger nailed Tav’s face on the newspaper. “Same asshole that hacked my wifi. Forty bucks, tell him I'll find him if he doesn't pay me.”

  I nodded. Yanking the newspaper out from under his hand and backing away again. “I don’t think I know him after all, my eyes are playing tricks.” I stopped at the door, motel room key clutched in my pocket and the ski pole trembling in the other. “Have a good night.”

  Thirty-Three

  Maine.

  What felt like the top of the world was the tiny northern village of Seaport, Maine. I flipped the newspaper in my hands, reading the article again as I sat on the bed. The hotel room was dark with a thin layer of dirt, the bedspread a dark color that could hide any number of horrors. But it was freedom.

  And I had some questions.

  By the time I reached the bottom of the article I was no closer to understanding why Tav’s face appeared in the crowd on the front of the photo. What I had confirmed was that this particular politician was scheduled for campaign stops all up and down the Maine coast this week, the final stop not far from here in a fishing village further down the coast.

  I knew where my first stop out of Seaport would be.

  I pulled my phone out of my backpack then, scrolling to the settings in search of the internet. A few protected connections popped up, along with one that was wide open. I attempted to connect to it, and when the bars indicated it had, I pulled out a search engine and typed in the politician’s name: Senator Garrison and Alexandria.

  I didn’t remember the exact address on the title from Bud’s cabin, but I wished now I had.

  When the search engine failed to load, I half-grinned wondering if Tav had been here, going crazy trying to find a reliable connection. I turned my phone off, tossing it on the nightstand next to me as I imagined calling the first taxi cab company listed in the phone book in the morning.

  I had a helluva lot of questions to ask. I pushed my hands into my pockets, emptying the contents and then digging through my rucksack to find the letter from my mom. I have so many regrets.

  Alexandria.

  Accidents.

  Investigators.

  Foul play.

  Alexandria.

  “Mom,” I breathed, suddenly remembering one of the investigators the day after her death asking if I knew anyone from Alexandria. I’d forgotten that detail until now because I hadn’t known anyone from Alexandria then. But now...maybe I did.

  “Your mother’s last phone call was from someone with a registered business address in Alexandria. There could be foul play, the burns aren’t consistent with an accident—” I’d hung up then.

  I couldn’t stand to hear anything more about the accident that stole my mom’s life. It was that night that the cramps had begun, lasting through the night and into the next day. One week later my prenatal checkup confirmed that there was no longer a heartbeat. I could have told them as much myself. How could that little baby’s heart continue to beat when mine had all but ceased?

  The therapist had upped the dosage on my medications in the days following the miscarriage. And Tav had held my hand as I cried. I cried for the loss of my mom, of our baby, of a future I didn’t know was mine to have. While the tears may have dried on the outside, inside I hadn’t stopped. Maybe that’s what had sent Tav driving into the wilderness away from me. My inability to cope was rearing it’s gnarled head again.

  But what did Alexandria have to do with the accident? Nothing? Or everything?

  Thirty-Four

  She ordered eggs at the cafe. She pushed them around on her plate after taking one bite, and then let them get cold as she scanned the headline of the local paper again.

  She looked worried, rushed, continuing to gaze around, constantly on edge. She should be. This was far from over and she was too fucking naïve to know how bad this could be.

  I sighed, hoping she’d wrap up soon so I could get on with it. I checked my watch as she sipped her coffee with a soft frown.

  Affected by another man. Burned by love. Women never asked the right questions.

  A bright white loading van pulled into the spot obscuring my view of Freya. I grunted, having half a mind to run down there, pull out my nine-millimeter, and tell them to get out of the way, or else.

  I groaned when two guys in uniform jumped out and began unloading a dolly and crates of supply boxes before delivering it into the cafe.
r />   “Dammit.” I slipped from the car, moving quickly across the street. My shoe hit the opposite curb and my eyes finally landed on the table where Freya had sat a moment ago.

  Empty.

  The bus boy was already clearing her table.

  Only Freya’s eggs and a half-emptied cup of cold coffee remained.

  Where the fuck is she?

  My eyes travelled the other faces obscuring my view down the sidewalk. I shuttled forward on heavy feet before I was close enough to see over the heads. Three waiters, a bus boy, the hostess, and a half dozen diners lingered around the small outdoor seating area.

  She was gone.

  “Where did she go?” I grabbed a waiter by the elbow and growled as I stepped into the suffocating circle of mundane chatter. The group paused, eyes on me. Damn, I hadn’t meant to bring attention to myself, only this was the first time she’d been out of my sight in weeks.

  In the blink of an eye, I’d lost her.

  “Where did who go?” A waitress entered my vision.

  “The woman who was seated right here, where did she go?”

  “I guess that depends who’s asking. You some kind of stalker or somethin’?” The waitress was small compared to me, but the threat in her voice was enough to make me step back. She turned and looked at another waitress. “We may need to call the police.”

  I held up my hand, anxiety chilling my veins as I realized my cover was blown. I stuffed a hand into my front pocket, itching to run the other way and find Freya before she made a dire mistake. “Ma’am, please.” I lowered my voice. “I’m an informant and that woman is in danger.”

  “An informant?” She narrowed her eyes. “And just who the hell do you inform?”

  I clenched down on my back teeth, my next words barely above a hum.

  “The FBI.”

  Thirty-Five

  The Third Sunday

  Tav.

  I watched rapt as he warmed his palms and then pushed them into an expensive wool coat. The fine navy fibers were cut to his knees, dark suit pants and leather wing-tipped shoes finished off his campaign trail attire.

  I’d never seen him look so polished.

  He turned then, a warm smile coming over him as he spoke to a woman in a sleekly cut skirt suit. She held her smartphone out, and the two of them took a photo together. He winked and waved as she backed away.

  I studied the strong cut of his jaw, considered the warm, intimate way he smiled back at that woman in a way that I’d always thought was reserved only for me. Who was this version of Tav that I’d never met before?

  I glanced down to the screen of my phone, teeth cutting into my bottom lip as I hit submit on the California records request I’d just ordered online. I closed the web browser on my phone, disconnected from the cafe wifi, and then turned off my phone. I adjusted its placement in the pocket of my jacket, sliding my thumb along the bumps as I counted which was the correct button to engage the recorder.

  I had questions to ask Tav, about a thousand of them, and I planned on doing it at just the right moment.

  I walked across the main street of the small seaside town. The cab driver that’d dropped me off at the cafe across the street from where the small political rally was scheduled was still parked further up the next block. He leaned against the back of his cab, disposing of the coffee cup in hand as he watched the crowd of a few hundred people gather closer to the stage.

  I reached the sidewalk just in time to hear Tav’s name announced to the podium.

  I angled around the crowd, some with signs expressing their support of various political issues. I tuned all of them out when I heard Tav’s rich voice over the cheap speakers.

  “It’s good to be on the coast of Maine!” Tav waved and some clapped.

  He began to talk about technical advancements and scientific discoveries that could change the lives of every citizen forever. He lost me on much of the jargon, my focus zeroed in on the woman he’d taken a photo with earlier. The angle of her high cheekbones and waves of chestnut hair were familiar. I struggled to recall the exact features of the therapist Tav had found for me last year when I was struggling with so much loss. Could it be her? And why? Was she part of the undercover plan to lock me away too? A therapist undercover prescribing me medications that worked like horse tranquilizers and now a campaign Barbie at his side? My mind blurred and muddled with the storm of possibilities. I recognized grandiose thinking and shades of paranoia when it came on, but that wasn’t relevant to this—she was too familiar.

  She beamed as she watched him, taking notes every now and again as he spoke. She nodded her head along with the crowd, and even silently repeated some of the words as he said them. Like she’d heard this speech before, like she’d written the speech. Tav’s mind could never communicate this eloquently, but his delivery was impeccable. The sharp cut of his jaw and slicked side part of his hair gave him a young Kennedy freshness, the sparkle in his eyes clearly translated to this crowd. They chuckled along with his jokes and clapped as if on cue, he had them wooed. Just like he’d charmed me.

  By the end of his speech, Tav’s voice grew with emotion. His tone cracked for a moment before he murmured, “Thank you everyone for your support. It wasn’t far from here and not long ago that I stumbled out of these woods not knowing if I’d live or die. I felt your love, every kind word and card and prayer has made all of the difference to me.”

  He held a hand over his heart, bowed his head and mouthed the words thank you again, before backing away from the podium and waving.

  A shudder skittered through me when the woman in the elegant pantsuit came to his side, circling an arm around his waist and waving to everyone alongside him.

  “Who is that?”

  “Kimberley Keller, isn’t she beautiful?” A middle-aged woman at my shoulder answered me.

  “Are they dating?”

  “That’s what everyone is wondering, but they haven’t said so.”

  I nodded, eyes on the happy couple as I melted into the crowd. The name Kimberley Keller didn’t ring any bells, but then, why did the soft twitch of her smile? I slipped along the sidewalk, moving behind the stage that was decorated with red, white, and blue streamer paper. Just as Tav’s broad shoulders were ducking into the back of a black SUV, I pushed the record button on my phone in my pocket and cleared my throat.

  He turned, eyes wild a moment when they landed on me.

  “Hi, Tav. Seen any ghosts lately?” A grin I couldn’t help crossed my face.

  “Frey—”

  “Don’t Frey, me. What does The Sunday Wife mean?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He grunted, his eyes dark and stormy. A look I’d come to hate subconsciously, and now I realized why.

  The look of his lies.

  “Skipped your meds, again, Frey?”

  Rage flashed through my vision, my balled fists quaking as I prepared to pummel him with all of my force. Instead, he gripped my wrist and yanked me into the backseat with him. I fell in a heap across his lap. He slammed the door closed, locking it quickly and then pushed himself across the seat.

  “Back to the hotel, please.” He called the driver. “We’ll talk about this in private.”

  “No,” I spit, yanking on the door handle. The child locks kept me in. “No, let me out!”

  “He won’t. If he hits the breaks, he’s fired. He knows that.” The driver never flinched, like he hadn’t even registered Tav’s words.

  “Tav, what are you doing?”

  “Saving your life.” He grit, eagle eyes angled on me. “Do what’s good for you for once and just listen to me.”

  The car slowed a moment later. Tav’s door was opened by a man in a valet hat. “Evening.”

  Tav nodded, threading our fingers together as he stepped out. I yanked my hand out of his, but followed him anyway. The valet raised an eyebrow. I probably looked homeless next to Tav’s designer suit and leather oxfords.

  I hated Tav then for mak
ing me feel so inferior with just a look.

  We crossed the lobby and reached the elevator before he spoke. “How did you get off the mountain?”

  “I snowshoed. How did you?” My tone was more accusing than I meant it to be.

  He shook his head, a frustrated look crossing his features. “This again?”

  My hands shook as the elevator trembled to a stop. The doors swung open and he gestured for me to exit first. I did, but then turned. “You owe me an explanation. You left me to fend for myself on the top of that mountain in a strange house—”

  “That’s your house, Frey.” Tav’s eyes turned warm. He paused at a doorway, sliding a key card out of his pocket before pushing the door open. We entered the biggest hotel room I’d ever seen. “You helped me pick it out—the brochure—don’t you remember?”

  “The vacation brochure sure, but—”

  “That wasn’t for vacation. I had a feeling those antipsychotics were leaving holes in your short term memory—”

  “What are you talking about? My short term memory is fine.”

  “Obviously not.” He crossed the room and tipped a decanter of amber liquid into a crystal glass and emptied it in one swallow. “The video call with your mom’s estate lawyer the last week before we left for the chalet—you begged me to call-in to the meeting to help you make sense of everything, do you remember that?”

  I shook my head, confusion coursing through me. Maybe that helped explain why Tav had the letter and some of my mother’s personal belongings, but then...what other holes did that leave in my memory?

  “I-I don’t think…”

  “Jesus, Frey, you think my plan was to leave you up there?” He closed the distance between us. “I love you, I would never—”

  “Then why the campaign trail? Why this, why now? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It all came together so fast, dad just announced officially last week that he was running. Geez, Freya, after we lost the baby I did everything I could to make you happy but every day you fall further and further away from me.”