Sunrise on Half Moon Bay Page 5
Driving back home, all Adele could think about was Justine. It was that much more upsetting because Justine did not seem the least bit worried about Scott’s indiscretion. Even with her concerns about possibly losing her job, she’d been as cool as ever. Adele knew Justine had money and a good résumé, so she’d be all right. But what would she do about Scott? Because no matter what she said, Adele knew that her brother-in-law had crossed the line, been unfaithful, and she couldn’t imagine Justine letting that go with an apology.
But she also couldn’t imagine Justine without Scott. To be fifty-two and suddenly discover everything you believed in and valued most a lie? How devastating would that be?
Adele reminded herself that at least Justine had lived a rich life before reaching this crisis. In contrast, she had spent the last eight years treading water. And getting out of shape.
She was driving through town and toward her east end neighborhood when she passed a church with an adjacent building that held offices and a few classrooms. A sign in one of the windows said Weight Loss Clinic. She thought that maybe she could make that small first step toward reclaiming her life, so she went home and looked up the weight loss programs online and found the one at the church she had passed. They called themselves Emerging Women and met several times a week. It was just a few blocks from her house. She decided she could go to a meeting in the morning to check them out.
Like any woman more than ten pounds overweight, Adele had tried many diets, but none that had worked. Or maybe all of them could’ve worked had she lasted more than four days. This time, however, she read about the diet online and found it actually looked fun. They even had products available for sale both at the meeting and in the grocery store for those busy men and women who didn’t have a lot of time for meal preparation. But everything she would need she could get at the local grocer.
Grocery store, not Jake’s market.
Her first meeting was successful. The friendly woman who weighed her in, pronounced her as having thirty-six pounds to lose for her ideal weight.
“I would have guessed a solid fifty,” Adele said.
“You’ll be so surprised at the difference you see and feel in just ten,” the woman said.
Adele listened to complaints and testimonials, heard advice and experiences, stayed late to get the instructions on how to calculate points for meals. She could even get an app for her phone so she could calculate the correct points for meals taken in a restaurant. Any place but Maggio’s.
She went home from her first meeting, cleaned out her refrigerator and made a list for the grocery. After that, she cleaned out her mother’s chest of drawers and half of her closet, stacking up the old clothes in either give away or throw away piles. Then she made a list of things she had to get done immediately. Topping the list was JOB.
She was filled with nervous energy, taking the first steps in starting over at last, unsure what the trigger had been. If she had learned Justine had a life-threatening disease, like cancer, she’d get it—don’t waste another moment of your life on trivial matters. Live as if it counts! Be your best self! But what she had learned was not that. Her wonderful brother-in-law, whom she loved more than she realized, loved like a brother, was a scoundrel. Not to be trusted. And her sister, who loved him and depended on him, was headed for certain heartbreak.
Adele did not dare waste a moment more.
* * *
Justine was just scrubbing up the last of the shattered flower vase when Scott came home, looking over the breakfast bar at her. She was on her knees, sweeping small bits of wet glass into a dustpan.
“What happened here?” Scott asked.
“Oh, an accident,” she said, her voice as pleasant as possible. “I dropped the vase and flowers. There were no survivors.”
“Aw, that’s too bad. There will be more, no worries,” he said. He gave her a smile.
No doubt, she thought. Probably lots of flowers before all was said and done. She judged his rumpled golf shirt and shorts, but she didn’t notice any sweat stains or grass stains, but then it was only March and there was a nice ocean breeze. Still, she’d like to ask to see a receipt for the round of golf. But instead she asked, “How’d you play?”
“Like crap. Eighty-six.”
The rest of their day involved minimal conversation, consisting of routine issues like what to have for dinner and the needs the girls had for the coming week. Then, as had become typical, Scott went to bed before nine while the girls and Justine were all up until eleven. Justine had work from the office to complete before an early Monday morning start, and the girls were finishing homework they’d put off to the last minute.
* * *
Monday came and that meant work for Justine, and even with all the uncertainties in the company, she was anxious to get there. Once she got to the office she texted one of the detectives they often used for legal assistance. It’s not like hers was a district attorney’s or prosecutor’s office—their investigations had to do with background checks on companies they might be involved with in business deals, contracts, that sort of thing. She texted a question.
I have a friend going through a divorce. Do you know a private investigator who does domestic investigations? I’d like to be able to recommend someone.
A name and phone number came back to her right away. She called a man named Logan Danner, a recently retired police lieutenant who worked for a private investigator’s office out of San Francisco. She asked to make an appointment to discuss a possible job. She named the detective who had recommended him and said the issue was domestic. And personal.
“Thanks. I’ll remember to tell him I appreciate the recommendation. Why don’t you tell me when you’re available and where I’ll be researching if you hire me. Then I can suggest a meeting place.”
“You don’t have an office?” she asked.
“Sure, but it’s better to meet in a public place that isn’t too busy. That way you’re not seen going into a PI’s office...”
“I go into PI’s offices from time to time, though mostly they come to me. I’m an attorney. However, in this—”
“Where and when, Mrs. Somersby. Let’s make this easy.”
She sighed. “I’m still just a little wobbly about doing this...”
“We’ll talk about that, too.”
“All right, you’re the expert. Any day after four and before seven, and I suppose you’ll be looking around San Jose and as far south as Half Moon Bay.”
“Perfect. There’s a great little Chinese restaurant in South San Jose called Chen’s. Have you been there?”
“I haven’t, no,” she said.
“Then it’s perfect. If we meet there at four thirty, it will be quiet. You can even get takeout for your dinner if you want to. Are you in a hurry?”
“Of course,” she said, but she said it tiredly. “Today?”
“Today it is,” he said. “Although it’s possible there won’t be many people in the place, I’m forty-eight and ordinary looking. Brown and brown. You?”
“Fifty-two, short blond hair, business attire.”
“Lawyer attire,” he added with a chuckle.
“I’m a corporate attorney,” she explained. “I read a lot of prospectuses. And contracts. And stock option proposals and documents filed with the SEC.”
“Noted,” he said. “See you a little later.”
For the rest of the day, she fluctuated between anxious for some details about her husband and frightened of what this detective might find. She wasn’t really sure if she hoped Scott wasn’t found to be doing anything egregious or if she hoped he was nailed with a red-hot poker. After all, what Adele had seen was not benign. Passionately kissing someone else was not allowed in their marriage.
Perhaps it was forgivable and survivable, however. She wasn’t sure how, but perhaps. However, was there enough love left between the
m?
* * *
She arrived at Chen’s a little early. There was no one dining at the time, and she told the hostess she’d be meeting someone at four thirty. The woman said, “You want food? Of course?”
“Of course,” Justine said, but she was thinking about what she could order that wasn’t exactly a meal. Her appetite had disappeared with Adele’s news. “A cup of tea for now, thank you.”
What she said and did today could decide the rest of her life. It was not too late to change her mind, forget about hiring a detective. If Scott ever found out... Wait a minute, she said to herself. He’s kissing some strange woman! That’s a worse crime than hiring a detective, isn’t it?
Her appointment walked in. Just his entrance alone was memorable. He spoke softly to the hostess, smiling at her. Then with an arm sweeping wide, the hostess indicated Justine. Logan Danner thanked her with another big smile and walked toward Justine.
“Mrs. Somersby?” he asked, putting out a hand.
“Yes. Thanks for meeting with me so quickly,” she said, noting his firm handshake.
“I’m happy to. It happens I’m not working tonight, so there’s plenty of time to talk about how I can help.”
“I’m not even sure what I’m looking for,” she said.
“How about I ask you a few questions to help us get there?” he suggested.
“Of course,” she said.
“Infidelity?” he asked.
The hostess brought her tea and for Logan, a tall blond beer. For both of them, water. Then she left quickly.
“I suspect so. My sister saw my husband kissing a woman. She described it as passionate kissing. In a dark restaurant.”
“Forgive the question, but is there any reason you know of that your sister would make up something like that? Some ax to grind. Family arguments, jealousies, anything?”
Justine shook her head. “Addie loves Scott,” she said. “She told me immediately. She’s outraged and hurt. I didn’t get overwrought, at least for her to see.”
“Who might he have been kissing?” Logan asked.
“I don’t know the woman, but Addie was with a friend who said her name is Cat Brooks and she owns a kayak rental shop in Half Moon Bay. That’s where I grew up. I’ve been gone for over twenty years, since college, only home for brief visits. Addie still lives there. She’s quite a bit younger than me—twenty years younger.”
Logan frowned. “Kind of ballsy, kissing some woman in his wife’s hometown, his sister-in-law’s town of residence...”
“Well, Addie lives there, but she has a very small circle of friends and doesn’t have much of a social life. For years she cared for our parents who were disabled and in need of medical care. Our mother only recently passed away. Addie can finally go out with friends, if they haven’t all deserted her by now. She was out for a pizza with a friend she’s known since childhood.”
“So, what is it you want me to do?” Logan asked.
“Let me tell you some things first,” she said.
“Of course,” he said. He took a swallow of his beer. Then he pulled a small notebook and pen from his pocket. “Take your time. Tell me what you think is important.” Pen poised over notebook, he gave her a nod.
“I’m a corporate attorney for a major software developer. Sharper Dynamic. I have two daughters, age sixteen and seventeen. Scott has been a stay-at-home dad since Amber, my oldest, was born. We’ve been married twenty-eight years but started dating in college. And I’ve provided most of the income the last twenty years.”
“Most?” he asked.
“When Scott didn’t have the responsibilities of two babies or toddlers or preschoolers, he sometimes worked part-time. Usually sporting goods retail—he liked the discounts on his gear from golf clubs to high-end mountain bikes. Discounts for the whole family. One year he even gave me a profit and loss statement showing me how much money he saved the family with his discounts. Enough to take a great vacation.”
She sounded ridiculous even to herself.
“And,” Logan said. “I sense there’s more.”
“He managed the finances. He would ask my opinion from time to time. No, that’s not right. He would tell me things like he was moving a little money to lessen our exposure in a volatile market. And I would say okay. But I rarely looked at a credit card bill or a phone bill or a bank statement. For all I know—”
“What do you want to know?” he asked.
“What do I want to know?” she repeated. “I guess I want to know if he’s having an affair.”
Logan leveled his gaze on hers. “I think you already know the answer to that. You just can’t prove it. In your capacity as an attorney, you’ve had occasion to work with an investigator or two.”
“On a regular basis, yes. But in quite a different way. Background checks, financial records, lawsuits, et cetera. I can honestly say extramarital affairs never crossed my desk.”
“Unfortunately, there seems to be an epidemic. You’ve been married a long time. Have you considered counseling?”
“We’re in counseling now. At Scott’s suggestion. Do you suppose that means he wants to save the marriage?”
“Let me be honest, Mrs. Somersby—”
“Please, feel free to call me Justine.”
“Justine. He might be trying to demonstrate he’s made an effort when he has no intention of staying in the marriage. I suggest you acquaint yourself with the accounting just in case...”
“Right...” She suspected they both knew this could be the death knell of a marriage.
“I can surveil him, find out how and where he spends his time, ascertain if there’s any inappropriate behavior that would suggest an affair, do a public records search of the woman he’s involved with, that sort of thing. To get started, I just need your husband’s full name and a license plate number. A picture would help. If the car he drives is registered in both your names, you can put a GPS tracker on the car. I can do that with your permission.”
“All right. And yes, the car is registered in both names. How much time will that take?”
“A matter of days, depending on the schedule your husband keeps. But plan on a couple of weeks. That way you won’t get impatient. A retainer and a very brief contract is required. It only states that you’ll pay for my time and expenses and I’ll deliver information to you and only you.”
“What if what we learn is the worst-case scenario? What am I supposed to do?”
“I’m an investigator, Justine. I’m not a marriage counselor. I don’t know the answer to that.”
She took a sip of her tea. “I might be the primary breadwinner, but I’m completely dependent on him.”
Logan didn’t say anything for a moment. “If you have a business card with your email address and cell number, I can send you an attachment with our agency contract. You can also wire me the deposit through this cell number.” He handed her his business card. “You’ll want to stash this card in a secure place. Unless you have a lot of PI business cards already so this one wouldn’t seem suspicious.”
She reached into her purse, pulled out a business card and wrote Scott’s full name on the back. Scott Rush Somersby. She texted a picture of the two of them. They were smiling confidently for the shot. There were pictures like that framed all over their house. So many people thought they were the perfect couple. “Here you go. I don’t remember his license plate number, but it’s a new Escalade, dark blue. I’ll send it to you when I get home.”
“Okay, then I can get started.”
After a quiet moment she said, “Finish your beer. I’m going to finish my tea. And I promised the hostess I’d order some food.”
“You’ll feel better about making a decision after you have the information you need,” he said.
“Oh, I don’t think I’m ever going to feel better about this.”
“What makes you think I have an expectation of what you’ll find?” she asked.
“You wouldn’t have called me otherwise. And Justine, I doubt you’re as dependent on him as you think.”
* * *
Justine tried to remember when, exactly, she’d given up her individual power. It might’ve been right away, when Scott said, “I’ll take the right side of the bed.” Then he proceeded to give her a list of her advantages to being on the left side. She would be closer to the bathroom, would have the better reading lamp and when he turned on his left side toward her, he could caress her with his right and dominant hand.
He must have forgotten about the dominant hand lately. Or, more like for years. Because he wasn’t ever in the mood anymore. That hadn’t bothered her much, since she worked such long hours and was frequently tired.
The more she thought about it, the more she realized he chose the TV shows, the dinners, the vacations, managed their social life. He told her to take the LSAT. “You’re a good test taker. You always have been. I know you like teaching, but you can make more money in law and I bet you’d like it.”
“Why don’t you take the LSAT. I’ll help you study,” she’d suggested.
“We both know that’s not a good idea,” he said.
He was good in sales, any kind of sales, because he was good with people. He was the fun and entertaining one. But it was probably when they moved in together, right after college, that she slowly began to give away any decision-making power in the partnership. And once she became a lawyer, she began to defer to him lest he feel that masculine bite from being the less successful of the two.
When she thought about it, he was quite eager not to work. She had always assumed they would both work and find a nanny or a reasonable day care. She had no problem after thinking about it. And in practice, it seemed to work. It seemed so modern and progressive.