My Wife Is Missing(48)

“Clearly you’re too verklempt to thank me. Well, you can thank me later,” Kennett said. “I’m going to be hanging out around here awhile … with my cousin. Maybe you and I could hook up. Go for beers. I can help you come up with strategies for finding Natalie. I’ve got some know-how there. Say, what are you doing right now, Mike? No time like the present.”

Kennett offered a toothy smile. Michael took it in, and swallowed hard.

What’s the game? he was thinking.

“What town does your cousin live in?” he asked.

“Medford,” Kennett said. “You know that town, Mike?”

Michael couldn’t speak. He knew plenty about Medford, but the fact that jumped out to him immediately was that Audrey Adler lived there.

Holy shit, Michael thought. He knows. Somehow, some way, Kennett knows.

Michael said, “Give me a few minutes, will you? Let me just take care of a couple of things.”

He left Kennett in the foyer, thinking of the old adage: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.





CHAPTER 21





NATALIE


BEFORE SHE DISAPPEARED

Magoun Avenue was less than a mile from the spot of Paul Revere’s famous midnight ride, which ran along Main Street in downtown Medford. It was the same street where Natalie now sat parked in her SUV across from Audrey Adler’s home, a two-family converted into condos. Seeing the little red Kia in the tandem driveway, Natalie assumed Audrey was inside her first-floor unit. The night air was cool, but Natalie had stripped off layers of clothing, which were piled on the seat beside her. Her simmering rage kept her plenty warm.

The clapboard home featured a columned entranceway that supported a balcony on the upper level. Black shutters fronting square windows looked like eyelashes against the exterior’s stark white paint. Gauzy curtains aglow with warm lamplight kept Natalie from peeking inside. She had a pretty good idea what those curtains were concealing, but to her chagrin she hadn’t seen Michael’s car in the driveway. She didn’t even know for certain that he’d come to this address.

Natalie had called him, of course. He’d answered, saying he was still at the office, but that could have been a lie. She’d keyed in on the anxious flutter in his voice. He was hiding something. She could tell. Perhaps she should have installed a GPS tracker on his car (a bit psycho, she knew), or somehow used his phone to reveal his true location.

She cursed Scarlett softly under her breath. If the nanny had shown up sooner, Natalie might have made it here in time to catch him in the act.

No dice. No luck.

She thought back to his mysterious phone call, snippets of which she’d picked up through Bluetooth.

We can’t do that.

What did “that” mean? More important, was it Audrey’s voice that she’d heard? She told herself yes, and expected there was a good chance he’d stopped over for a quickie. Michael knew he couldn’t stay long, otherwise he’d risk raising the suspicions of his already suspicious wife.

What was it that drove men to go to such lengths to do something they could easily take care of by themselves in a locked bathroom, with a lot less risk, time, and effort? Men were either incredibly complex or (and this she believed to be more likely), supremely simplistic. It was all about the conquest for them, not the relationship. The thrill of the chase, and to the winner goes the spoils! And what were the spoils? A broken marriage, a devastated family, vows that could not have been any more meaningless.

Several minutes passed, during which Natalie watched the home from the relative safety of her car. She was thinking maybe Michael had gone to get a bottle of wine, or takeout from one of the many restaurants dotting Medford’s Main Street. She passed the time thinking of what she’d say if given a chance to confront him.

So, you’re Audrey’s ‘Chris’ came to mind, though Michael might not immediately get the reference. It would be Michael’s name Audrey cried out in ecstasy, not Chris’s, a name she’d used purposefully to hide her paramour’s identity.

God, the thought of it all made Natalie sick.

Since indirect wasn’t going to work, Natalie settled for the more obvious.

You shit. You lying, devious asshole. How could you? How dare you?

The thought of confronting Michael so gloriously brought a smile to her face. She imagined Audrey hearing the commotion before emerging from her condo with a wide-eyed look of shock. Neighbors would peek out their doors and windows. Maybe the cops would show up.

Good. Let it be a big deal.

Later, she’d kick Michael out of the house and he’d go willingly, without complaint, probably straight back to Audrey. He’d leave his wife and children behind like he was being the noble one, doing Natalie’s bidding for her well-being, or so he’d say. In reality, he’d come back here with a bow on his head, and perhaps another ribbon tied elsewhere, like he himself was a gift.

Some gift.

Eventually, Natalie got tired of waiting. She texted Michael.

Where are you?



He didn’t respond.

How long does it take to get Chinese food or fancy wine? she asked herself.

What time will you be home? she texted.



Again, no answer.

She got out of her car to have a stretch. Let Audrey see her, she decided. What would HR say? You can’t be out and about in a free country? Natalie paced up and down the street, thinking … thinking. Her poor brain felt so gummed up that the best she could manage was a single notion, a thought set on repeat.