Chapter 10
Camille
The Alibi
I let myself in through the side door that leads to the mudroom.
Custom cabinetry lines one wall while a bench made to look old and worn runs the length of the opposite wall.
Even though I know there’s nothing recording my presence in this house right now while I make my way through the butler’s pantry to the kitchen, I still avoid the areas the interior cameras would capture if they were working.
When Ben told me a few days ago the cameras were down, that was the only confirmation I needed that he would be meeting someone here.
A “system-wide malfunction” meant there wouldn’t be any alerts on my phone if someone walks up to any of our exterior doors, nor would there be any videos that could be used against him later.
He just didn’t know he was making it easy for me too.
This house may be beautiful but it feels like a prison—one where the warden can check in on you whenever the need arises.
But not today.
Today I’ll be the one watching, thanks to Aubrey.
Aubrey.
Oh, how wrong I was about her.
When I showed up to the bar to pressure her into admitting she was sleeping with my husband, I assumed I knew exactly what was going on.
But instead of getting proof of Ben’s infidelity, I opened Pandora’s box. Whether I like it or not, I’m stuck with Aubrey Price now.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I clear the landing on the second floor then head to the narrow door that hides the staircase to the attic.
I spent the last few days stuffing an oversize storage container with everything I’d need today.
The first thing I grab is the bag holding half a dozen small cameras and head back downstairs.
In the kitchen, I take my time powering them on and syncing them by Bluetooth to my iPad. After testing everything earlier in the week, I know the distance between the attic and the rest of the house is within range for the tablet to pick up each camera’s feed.
Once I’m sure the batteries are fully charged in each camera, I scatter them around the house in places I think Ben could be when he gets here.
I work my way through the downstairs: one in the potted plant that will show the driveway, then the kitchen, the dining room, his home office, the living room, and I finish upstairs, with one in our bedroom, just in case he has more planned today than I think.
Before I leave our bedroom, I stop and stare at the gallery of images hanging on the wall.
Ben is classically handsome; he won the genetic lottery where all the parts and pieces are symmetrical and sized for the most pleasing results.
He also has the ability to be exactly what he needs to be depending on the people around him.
It’s a gift that wins him both cases and friends.
There’s the image of us dressed up at DC Mardi Gras, him in a tux in what I call his Lawyer Ben look.
Hair brushed back, not a strand out of place.
Contacts in. No stubble. And next to it is one of my favorite pictures of us, taken last summer on vacation in Greece.
He’s in shorts, no shirt, on the deck of the boat we chartered to take us sailing.
It’s his Relaxed Ben look. Free of gel, thick, fat curls cover his head, and he’s got the perfect amount of scruff when he skips the razor for at least a day.
Two different-looking guys, two different personalities.
Which Ben will I see today?
I run a hand across the image of him on the sailboat as if I’m saying goodbye to the version I fell in love with all those years ago, before everything got so complicated.
And then I’m back to the attic. We splurged on the foam insulation during the remodel so it’s only a few degrees warmer than the interior of the house.
I pull out a folded beach chair and set it up next to the storage box.
Remaining inside are a couple of bottles of water, a box of granola bars, a roll of toilet paper, and a bucket.
I’m praying with everything in me that I won’t need the bucket, but I’m prepared for the worst. After he gets here, I’m not sure when I’ll have a chance to leave.
Once I’m as comfortable as I can be in the chair, I switch to the grid view on the tablet that shows all the camera angles at once, then I plug the headphones in.
The conference he and Hank were attending ended almost an hour ago.
If he comes straight home he could be here soon, but it’s impossible to know for sure since he turned his location services off.
A text from him comes through just as I settle in to wait:
Of all the places I thought you’d be shopping I sure didn’t guess the feed and seed store
What.
What is he talking about?
Before answering him, I pull up the app that shows my phone’s location. He’s right: The little blue dot is steadily blinking exactly where he said. I check the time and notice it’s just before one. Aubrey should be at the festival next to the inn.
But she’s not. She’s at a feed and seed store.
“What are you doing, Aubrey?” I mumble as I switch back to the screen with Ben’s text: haha they have some gorgeous mums here! Couldn’t resist when I passed by!
It’s a good thing I bought one yesterday when I got to town so he won’t catch me in a lie.
He doesn’t respond, which pisses me off because part of me thinks he texted me just so I know he’s checking in on me. It’s moments like this that reinforce I’m doing the right thing.
I settle in to wait.
And wait.
After almost an hour in the attic I’ve almost talked myself into the possibility that I’ve misunderstood everything and he’s not coming, then I hear the rumble of the garage door opening.
A minute or so after that, Ben enters the kitchen.
I watch from the camera as he puts some mail on the counter.
He’s still dressed as Lawyer Ben, but he’s barely through the door before he starts shedding that persona, transforming right before my eyes.
He loses the coat and tie. His hands run through his perfectly styled hair until it begins to hang loose around his face.
It won’t curl until he washes all that product out, though.
The shirtsleeves get rolled up. Relaxed Ben is here.
Even though I know it’s not possible, it feels like the temperature in the attic increases by ten degrees when I see him. Sweat breaks out across my upper lip and my face feels flushed.
I have no idea what he would do if he discovered me up here. Found out I had hidden cameras around our home to spy on him.
This is one of those plans that sounded great and easy in theory, but sitting in this plastic chair surrounded by boxed-up Christmas decorations and remnant pieces of tile and wood from the remodel, it feels a bit insane.
It feels like something only a desperate person would do, which is what I am.
Carrying that briefcase, Ben walks directly through the house to his home office just off the foyer.
I scan the little squares on the screen, watching his progress as he passes from room to room.
Each image is small, and there’s not much detail since six different angles are vying for screen space, but I know I can look back through each feed and zoom in if necessary since there is a backup video on the memory card in each camera.
He’s behind his desk and seemingly jumps right into work.
I know he’s gone to all the trouble to be here so he can meet with someone, but I also know that if Ben is anything, he’s efficient.
I click on the little box, and the view of his office fills the screen.
Ben puts his briefcase on his desk then opens it up.
From the camera angle, I can’t see what’s inside.
He spends a few minutes digging around until he pulls out a large manila envelope, then begins taking items out one by one.
There are a few papers, a few pictures, and one of those small media storage drives.
He studies the papers and pictures first. If it were me, I would have turned on some music or the TV, anything for a little background noise, but not Ben. He loves the silence. Says he thinks better when nothing is competing with his thoughts.
I’ve been with Ben for years but it’s surprising what I’m learning by watching him when he doesn’t know he’s being watched.
I didn’t know Ben talked to himself. Nothing earth shattering but a sort of running commentary as he works.
Then there’s the odd movements. Popping joints, clearing his throat loudly enough that I jump the first time he does it, and a head swivel/neck stretch that looks a bit painful.
I’m almost in a trance observing him so unguarded.
Finally, he seems to be finished reading whatever’s there and he picks up the drive. His laptop sits on the credenza behind him but just as he starts to swivel around to face it, something catches his attention.
I check the camera on the front porch since he’s staring out of his window that faces the road.
There’s a car coming down the driveway.
Ben gets up to get a better look.
“What the fuck…” His hands are on his hips as his head shakes slowly back and forth. Guessing this visit isn’t the one he had planned today.
I switch the screen so I can watch what’s happening outside. It’s a bright red Mustang. But not a new one. It’s an older model but shiny enough to assume it’s been recently restored. It’s still too far away for me to make out the driver.
Ben heads to the front door just as the Mustang stops in front of the house. The driver gets out and approaches Ben. He’s Black, about the same height as Ben but a stockier build. He’s dressed in jeans and a button-down.
Ben’s frustration is long gone and he’s nothing but smiles as he slaps the guy on the back and acts happy to see him.
“Eddie, good to see you,” Ben says. You wouldn’t know he wasn’t being genuine unless you’d witnessed his reaction at the man’s arrival.
They shake hands.