Cheryl Tardif - Children of the Fog

Sadie was flustered. “Why would he want to do that?”

Warner must have placed his hand over the receiver because there was a muffled sound on the other end. And another voice, an indistinct one.

“I can’t get into this over the phone,” Warner said finally. “Can you come down tomorrow morning around ten?”

“Fine. I’ll be there.”

She hung up just as Philip stormed into the house.

“Goddamn bunch of pariahs!” he ranted, heading for his office. “I don’t want to be disturbed, Sadie. Got that?”

“I have no intention of disturbing you,” she said dryly.

What she wanted was a drink, but she’d already finished off the bottle of Cabernet. She experienced a pang of shame. Her sobriety was over. But it wasn’t the same as before. She’d had one glass before bed. To help her sleep. The good thing was that this time she was in control. At least, that’s what she told herself.

Her eyes wandered across the living room walls, pausing on a family portrait. She remembered that day clearly. Sam had just turned two. She had held him on her lap and tickled him until he laughed with glee. In that perfect moment, the photographer had captured Sam’s spirit.

And perhaps his soul.

She thought of his troubled birth. The nurses had doubted that the tiny boy would survive, but he had fought, struggling for breath with each labored beat of his heart, and he had lived. For six years. Six short years.

She had loved Sam more than she loved her parents or Philip or any other—more than life itself. He was her miracle, her salvation. It was the love for her son that had made her want to get up each morning and made her life worthwhile. He had defined her entire existence.

He still did.

The room in the police station where she waited was small, but it wasn’t as bleak as she had expected. On one wall, there was a painting of a Japanese geisha strolling in a garden of cherry blossoms. A dust-spotted silk tree in the far corner sat lopsided in a plastic pot, and in the middle of the room, padded chairs and a small round table showed little character but frequent use.

She sat down and furtively eyed the dark glass in the middle of the wall. She knew what a tinted window meant. She watched Law & Order.

She waved, smiling through gritted teeth. “Bring it on, boys.”

Five minutes passed without interruption.

She tapped her fingers. “Let’s get this over with.”

The door opened and a woman stepped inside.

Sadie recognized her instantly. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, Sadie. About Philip. About everything.” A badge dropped on the table.

“You? You’re the undercover detective?”

Brigitte Moreau sat down in the chair across from her.

Sadie was stunned. The last thing she expected was to find out that the undercover cop sent to spy on her husband was none other than the woman who’d been sleeping with him. The woman she had despised for the last year.

Brigitte folded her hands. “I have to admit, this is a bit awkward. My real name is Bridget Moore. I, uh… was brought in by Philip’s firm once they discovered the funds were missing. My assignment was to get close to Philip, to see if he was in on it and find out where the money was going.”

“Getting close to him doesn’t mean sleeping with him.”

Bridget unclasped her hands. “I had to take advantage of his weakness for women. Get him to trust me.”

“I guess it worked.”

“Look, Sadie, we both know that Philip wasn’t the perfect husband. He pursued me —or Brigitte Moreau.” Her lips curled into a wry smile. “And trust me, the sex wasn’t all that great.”

Sadie stared at her, wondering why Bridget’s derisive comment didn’t make her want to lunge across the table and grab handfuls of that perfectly coiffed blond hair. Ironically, she just wanted to laugh. Maybe have a Philip-bashing party and a bottle of whine . She certainly had enough to complain about.

“The sex was never that great,” she admitted.

Bridget grinned. “You know, if I can be blunt, you’re far better off without him. I wasn’t the first, you know.”

Sadie feigned surprise. “Really?”

“Philip told me he started sleeping around just after you were married. The last time—before me, that is—was with someone close to him, he said. Another associate, I think. But he said it was a one-time thing, a mistake.”

Sadie thought of Latoya Jefferson, the young receptionist who had worked at the firm a few years ago. Philip had shown an unusual interest in her. When Sadie had questioned him, he’d shrugged it off, saying she was the daughter of a friend. Latoya left in a flurry of rumors of an affair with one of the partners.

She scowled.

Bridget noticed her expression. “In my defense, Philip can be quite charming when he wants to be. Plus, it was the only way to track down the money.”

“And did you?”

The woman nodded. “He left me in his office one day while he went to see Morris. I found some documents behind a picture of Sam. We’re in the process of tracing the funds. If we’re lucky, we’ll be able to reroute them to a secure account. We’re talking millions.”

“So why am I here?”

“Because I needed to apologize, Sadie. And because you’re going to hear some nasty things during the trial.”

“If it goes to trial.”

Bridget’s eyes brightened. “Do you think he’ll accept a plea bargain?”

“I don’t know. Philip’s basically a…”

“Coward?”

“I see you know him very well.”

Bridget blushed. “We’re planning to pick him up next week. Oh, and don’t bother trying to post bail. He’s too much of a flight risk. He won’t be going anywhere.”

“And you don’t want me going anywhere either. Is that it?”

“We’re hoping to keep you out of it,” Bridget said. “By Philip’s admission, you had no knowledge of what he was doing. He kept you in the dark. We won’t need you to testify, but…”

“There’s always a but .”

Bridget sucked in a deep breath. “The press will be nasty on this one. They’ll call my involvement entrapment and turn your marriage into a farce.”

Sadie stood slowly. “Let them say what they will. I don’t plan on being around for long.”

“It’s probably a good idea to start over,” Bridget said. “Start a new life.”

Sadie paused in the doorway. “They’ll be right, you know.”

“What?”

“My marriage was a farce. But one good thing came from it.”

Bridget’s eyes were full of sympathy. “I hope they find Sam.”

“Me too.”

In the parking lot, Sadie sat in her car for almost fifteen minutes, letting the engine idle while she replayed the latest development. If anyone had told her that she’d have a rational, almost friendly, conversation with the woman her husband had been sleeping with, she would’ve laughed.

Irony was a strange bedfellow.

“We’re checking out some new leads,” Jay told her a few days later. “We’ve had to sort through calls from people claiming they’ve seen the man from your drawing. In the meantime, we need you to do an interview—a plea for Sam’s release.”

After lunch, she met him at the television station.

Philip was already there.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” he asked Jay.

The detective gave him a tight smile. “We haven’t got anything to lose at this point.” When he saw Sadie cringe, he added, “If you make a personal plea to him, it could make him care more about Sam’s well-being.”

“If Sam’s still alive,” Philip muttered.