Ditching David Read online

  Ditching David

  Fidelity Investigations #1

  Jenna Bennett

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  THEY SAY THE wife is always the last to know, and I guess it must be true, because until David told me he’d found someone else and was leaving me, I had no idea he had even thought about straying.

  By then, it had gone way beyond thinking about it. Her name was Jackie—I found out later that it wasn’t just Jackie, it was Jacquie with a q—and she made him feel young again. Not surprising, when Jackie-with-a-q was younger than his children.

  He had two, both of them with his first wife.

  I was his second, acquired when Sandra started to show signs of wear and tear. She was pushing thirty-five by then, and had carried and birthed two little monsters, so it stood to reason she wouldn’t look as dewy fresh as she had when he married her.

  That didn’t stop David from dumping her for another nubile twenty-two year old: me.

  At that point Krystal was eleven and her little brother Kenny eight. They went to live with Sandra, and I had to deal with them only on the rare weekends when David had visitation rights. They didn’t like me and I’m not sure they liked David much, either. No big surprise there, when he had left their mother for me.

  David and I didn’t have any children. He didn’t want any, and since he didn’t, I didn’t either. In retrospect I may have regretted that, but at the time it seemed like a logical choice. Besides, my experiences with Krystal and Kenny didn’t exactly inspire confidence in my abilities as a mother. And it meant I kept my figure and didn’t grow old before my time. When I passed thirty and then thirty-five without being traded in for a younger model, I breathed a silent sigh of relief. I guess I may have become a little too complacent, because it was only a few months past my fortieth birthday when David came and told me it wasn’t working out and he wanted a divorce.

  “I see,” I said, as the bottom fell out of the world.

  He arched a brow. He’d always had that ability, and when I was younger, I thought it was sexy. Now I found it conceited. “That’s all you have to say?”

  Well, no. I could have said a lot more. But I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of hearing me rant. Or worse, beg. “What’s her name?”

  David flushed, as if I’d put him on the spot. As if he’d really thought I wouldn’t realize what was going on. “Gina...”

  “Oh, give me a break! You did it to Sandra; it was only a matter of time before you did it to me. I should have known something was up as soon as you brought home the Porsche.”

  He’d bought it for himself a few months ago: the classic middle-aged phallic substitute, a screaming red convertible sports car.

  But no, instead of seeing the car as what it was, the writing on the wall, I’d chalked it up to midlife crisis—he’d be turning fifty-three soon—and an effort to recapture his youth.

  Duh.

  “Jackie,” David said. “With a q.”

  Of course. “And how old is she?”

  David announced, with barely concealed pride, that she was twenty-five.

  Three whole years older than I’d been when he married me. While he’d aged eighteen years since then. By now, he was more than old enough to be Jacquie’s father.

  “She wants you for your money,” I said.

  “We’re in love,” David answered stiffly.

  Of course they were. Jackie-with-a-q was in love with David’s position and bank account, while David was in love with her twenty-five-year-old body and her no doubt oft-expressed adoration.

  And why wouldn’t she adore him? He was rich, handsome, and crazy about her. Crazy enough to be willing to divorce his wife of eighteen years.

  But there is none so blind as they who will not see, and I knew it wouldn’t do any good to argue. So I told him I understood, that of course he could have a divorce if that’s what he wanted, and as soon as the door closed behind him, I was on the phone with the best (female) divorce lawyer in Nashville.

  The papers were filed the next day, including the petition for 50% of the marital assets plus a few grand a month in alimony. Tennessee is an equitable distribution state—meaning the actual division of assets would be decided by the court—but we made a good case for why eighteen years of marriage, during which David’s business grew by leaps and bounds, entitled me to half of what he owned. And since he’d married me before I could finish college, and he had insisted I didn’t have to work, I had no way of supporting myself apart from his income.

  I stayed in the house in Hillwood while David had bought a penthouse in downtown for himself. Jackie-with-a-q didn’t move in; I guess David’s own divorce attorney (male) advised him that it wouldn’t look good. He didn’t stop seeing her, though. She lived in midtown, and he’d go there every night.

  Yes, I followed him. So sue me: I wanted to see the woman he’d left me for.

  I gave it a couple of days after the announcement to let him relax and get the divorce process started on his end. By then, David was settled into his new apartment and his new routine, still heading to work every day as if nothing was going on. That afternoon, at the time he usually left Hollingsworth & Kelly for the day, I was parked across the street waiting for him. For the occasion, I’d traded cars with Diana, my attorney, since I thought David might recognize the flashy convertible he’d bought me for my fortieth birthday—to assuage his guilty conscience, I now realized. At Diana’s recommendation, I had pen, paper, and a digital camera on the seat next to me, to take notes and snap pictures of anything interesting.

  Farley Hollingsworth left first. David’s business partner and best friend is a thin man with receding hair and glasses. He looks like your stereotypical accountant. Farley is the brains of the business; David the... beauty, I guess. He’s handsome and charismatic, and at fifty-two, obviously still has what it takes to turn the head of a woman half his age. Farley, on the other hand, isn’t much to look at, but he makes up for it with intelligence.

  He’s still on his first wife. They got married during college, and have managed to stick it out for thirty years, through sickness and health, three children, and business ups and down.

  I sat there while Farley got into his white BMW and drove off. Home to the house in Belle Meade and Martha. Whom, I will say for him, he sincerely seemed to adore.

  Rachel was next to leave. She’s David’s office manager and administrative assistant, and when he first hired her, I admit to being worried. I thought she’d be the end of my marriage, that he’d hired my replacement.

  Instead, Rachel turned out to be older than me, and frumpy. Forty pounds overweight, with mousy brown hair, always dressed in a boxy dark business suit. She came to professional life late, after her husband left her, and taking a chance on her is one of the few purely unselfish things David has ever done.

  Or perhaps it wasn’t entirely unselfish, since he got a hell of an administrative assistant out of the deal, not to mention Rachel’s undying devotion. In her eyes, David can do no wrong. She runs the daily workings of Hollingsworth & Kelly with an iron hand, and manages to juggle dry cleaning, golf appointments, and birthday presents to David�
��s kids and his soon to be ex-wife—me—at the same time.

  I wondered how long she’d known about Jackie-with-a-q and how Rachel felt about the situation. She might even have helped David keep it from me. We’d never gotten along well, probably because Rachel thinks I’m not worthy of the great David Kelly. I wondered if she thought Jackie-with-a-q was worthy or whether she really, secretly, wanted David for herself.

  I watched as she got into her car, a five year old Toyota, and drove away, home to her own lonely apartment and dinner for one. Then I went back to watching the entrance to the building.

  David came out fifteen minutes later. I guess he must have taken the time to freshen up before he left, because he looked spiffy. His hair, thick and silver, was freshly combed, and he had changed the business-like white shirt and conservative tie for a lavender shirt open at the collar. He looked damned good for fifty-plus, and in spite of the fact that I was practically angry enough to murder him, I felt that familiar clutch at the heart. Almost twenty years together will do that to a woman, even when the man’s a jerk.

  I snapped a couple of pictures of him exiting the building and walking through the parking lot, just to get familiar with the camera.

  The phallic symbol Porsche was parked at the back of the lot, and I heard the roar of the engine as he started it. A few seconds later the sleek red shape came rolling out into the street. I started my own engine, but waited until he was a block away before I pulled into the street behind him.

  And off we went, through Nashville rush hour traffic. It was no problem at all keeping up with the eye-catching Porsche as David wound his way down Music Row into midtown and from there into the lot of one of Nashville’s most expensive restaurants. I snapped a few more pictures as he turned the car over to the valet and headed inside, smoothing a hand over his hair as he went.

  I found a parking space across the street and settled in to wait. It wasn’t like I could leave the car, after all. David would notice me the moment I walked into the restaurant, and he’d guess why I was there. And I had no desire to give him the idea that I was upset about what was going on.

  So I waited. And watched the new arrivals as they handed their keys off to the valet and entered the restaurant through the double glass doors. Couples, single men, small groups of women—girls’ night out, I guess—and here and there a single woman, as well. Most were older—the place wasn’t easy to afford on a twenty-five-year-old’s salary—but one or two were in the right age range. I paid special attention to the blondes, knowing David’s preferences, and took pictures of everyone I thought might be a likely candidate. Thank God for digital cameras. In the old days, with celluloid, I’d have had to worry about running out of film. As it was, I kept shooting, and the camera kept clicking away.

  They came out two hours later, together. By then, I was in desperate need of a toilet, and would have killed for a drink. But I sat up straight in my seat as soon as I saw David exit the building, and aimed the camera at him. When Jackie-with-a-q followed, I was ready.

  And damn, I had seen her walk in, but hadn’t paid her much attention. She didn’t look like I’d expected, or what I thought I knew David’s type to be. Far from a tall, cool blonde, she was a short, exotic-looking brunette instead. She barely came up to David’s shoulder, even in high heels—Jimmy Choo’s; I wondered whether our money had paid for those—and the two of them together looked like father and daughter.

  I zoomed in and started snapping pictures, until the valet brought her car around. She drove a VW Beetle, royal blue, and I don’t know why that should have come as a surprise. Lord, she looked impossibly young, and I felt older than I had in a long time.

  David handed her into the car with a last, lingering kiss. The way he looked at her reminded me of the way he used to look at me a long time ago. It was a look I hadn’t seen in years, and it brought back memories I’d just as soon forget.

  She zoomed out of the lot and into traffic. I thought about waiting, to follow David instead, but decided I’d be better off discovering where Jackie-with-a-q lived. I already knew David’s new address, since he’d told me where to forward his mail, and of course I also knew where he worked. I could always find him. But if I lost Jacquie now, I might not see her again. While the valet went for David’s Porsche, I started Diana’s Mercedes and pulled out into traffic.

  Jackie-Q had gone in the opposite direction on a two-way street, so I had to go up to the next light and turn around. By then, she was a couple of blocks ahead, and I had to hustle to catch up.

  Shadowing someone isn’t as easy as it looks in the movies, and by now, rush hour was over and there were less cars on the streets. Luckily the Beetle—like the red Porsche—was rare enough that it made things easier. I’d hate to think what might have happened if Jackie-with-a-q had been driving Rachel’s white Toyota.

  I trailed her to an older five-story apartment building in midtown, not too far from the restaurant. The building and location were nice enough, although nowhere near as nice as David’s new digs. Maybe Jackie-with-a-q chose to spend her money on clothes instead of housing. Or maybe she just couldn’t afford any better. He hadn’t told me what she did for a living, and I scribbled a note to myself to find out.

  She parked in the lot behind the building and came around to the front. I watched as she unlocked the door and disappeared inside. After a minute, a light came on in a window on the third floor. A couple minutes passed while I waited some more. Two people left the building. A young woman with a small, fluffy dog wandered down the street so the dog could do its business against a streetlight, and a minute later, a dark-haired young man in jeans and a short-sleeved blue chambray shirt came out of the building and headed across the street, directly towards me.

  My heart skipped a beat. Had Jacquie noticed me following her, and sent a neighbor to warn me off?

  But at the last moment he veered off, and unlocked a pickup truck parked at the curb in front of me. He passed close enough that I could see the expression on his face, and it wasn’t happy. His jaw was set and his lips tight. Maybe he and the dog-walker had had an argument, and she had cut it short by taking the pooch for a walk. I watched carefully as he passed the two of them, but he made no move to jump the curb and take them out, or for that matter any move to talk to her. She did lift her head to watch the truck drive away, though, which I thought gave some credence to my theory.

  Headlights in my rearview mirror caught my attention, and I forgot all about the young man and the girl with the dog as I watched David’s red Porsche slow down and go past me, to pull into the parking space the truck had just vacated. David fluffed his hair in the mirror before getting out of the car and walking across the street, setting the alarm on the Porsche with a flick of his wrist. I shrank down into my seat when he glanced around, even though I knew he couldn’t possibly see me through the tinted windows. I took a picture of him walking, then another of him ringing the doorbell—it looked like Jackie-with-a-q hadn’t trusted him with a key to her apartment—and then I took a third picture as he disappeared inside.

  At that point I figured I’d done everything I could do. I certainly wasn’t about to ruin my beauty sleep by sitting here in the car all night. It wasn’t like I had any questions about what they would be doing upstairs, and I had no desire to photograph it. Unless they got it on directly in front of the window, I wouldn’t be able to, anyway. But I waited a couple of minutes to make sure they were settled before I opened the car door and scurried across the street. A quick look at the lighted display of doorbells showed me that Jackie-with-a-q did indeed live on the third floor, probably in the apartment where I’d seen the light go on just after she went inside. Her last name was Demetros. I took a picture of the doorbell too, and then I gave the young lady with the dog a polite smile as we passed on the sidewalk. She turned to look after me suspiciously before heading into the building with the dog. It growled.

  * * *

  AFTER THAT NIGHT, I made a habit of following D
avid around. I also spent some time outside Jacquie’s apartment building. I saw the girl with the dog again—although I don’t think she saw me—and I also saw the swarthy young man. And I saw David coming and going a lot. I kept taking pictures and passing them to Diana, who was putting together quite a dossier on David’s extramarital activities.

  While all this was going on, I myself was pure as the driven snow. I dedicated myself to nailing David in court, and I had no time left over for anything else. Diana was the only person I had any contact with. Most of my friends were wives of clients of David’s anyway, so of course those relationships fell by the wayside when we separated. It was rather sobering to realize how much of my life had been wrapped up in his. I had no job, no friends, and not much of a life outside David.

  Our court date was the first Tuesday in September, the day after David’s birthday. I thought long and hard about buying him a gift—we’d been married for eighteen years, and part of me would always love him, and anyway, it was still our money—but in the end I decided against it. It would send the wrong message.

  I did call him, though. At work. Where Rachel answered the phone. “Hollingsworth & Kelly. Rachel speaking.”

  “Hi, Rachel,” I said. “This is Gina.”

  There was a beat, and then Rachel found her voice. “Hello, Mrs. Kelly.”

  I hadn’t expected warmth, since I’d never received any before, but I’d thought that perhaps the fact that David had been cheating on me might have made her a little more kindly disposed. Guess not.

  “Is David around?”

  “One moment.” She clicked off. I heard a few seconds of Muzak, and then David’s voice.