The Cheating Wife
by Tom Pacheco
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PAGEMarcus Osborne sat on his
office chair with his feet propped atop his desk. He
reflected, if any one came into my office at this moment
he would think I was the epitome of the happy and able
private detective-and he wouldn't be too far off the
mark.
Osborne was in his early thirties, slightly
over six feet, with strong classic features and thick
black hair. He knew he was a handsome man. After three
years in the business, his private detective agency had
a good reputation in the city. He was single and in
love. The only drawback to this picture was that the
object of his feelings was a married woman.
Three
knocks on the door of the office brought him back to
reality. "Come in," he said, taking his feet off the
desk.
A slender middle-aged man with thinning
hair and rimless glasses, dressed in an expensive suit,
opened the door and walked in. The detective got up from
behind his desk and shook the newcomer's
hand.
"Please sit down. I'm Marcus Osborne,
director of the agency. What can I do for you?" He said
this with a half-anxious expression which he had
practiced in the mirror many times.
"My name is
Harold Jones." He spoke in a low voice. "You have been
highly recommended to me. I have a very sensitive matter
to discuss and I've heard your agency is very
discreet.
Osborne acknowledged the words with a
modest inclination of his head.
Looking away,
Osborne's new client explained. "I suspect my
wife is
cheating on me but I want to be sure. I want you to
investigate . . . .Follow her when she leaves our
apartment, let me know where she goes and who she
sees."
"We can give you a complete and detailed
report. When would you like it?"
"I guess two
weeks will be good enough. Unless you think you should
follow her longer."
"We'll see . . .but two weeks
may be okay."
"Fine. This is my card with my
address. And here is an envelope with her picture and a
check for an advance payment. I already know your rate.
Please don't spare any expense."
"What's your
wife's name?"
"Christine Ann."
Osborne
held his breath. Christine Ann was his lover's name.
This man must be her husband. He opened the envelope and
looked at the picture and the check, hoping to gain time
and recover his cool.
Jones perceived his
seriousness as a desire to start work on the job at
once. "I see you're a man of few words. I'm sure you'll
give me a thorough report next time I see you. Good
day."
Marcus finally found his voice. "Good day,
Mr. Jones," he said, getting up from his chair and
walking his new client to the door.
After Jones
was gone, Marcus sat down again at his desk. He was
stunned. Mechanically, he opened the lower right-hand
drawer and took out a bottle of Scotch and a glass. He
poured himself a generous shot and, while sipping it,
pondered how to handle this tricky situation.
So
his new client was Christine Ann's husband. Not much to
look at, he thought. No wonder she wants to get a
divorce and marry me. Besides, he thought, she's in love
with me.
He knew he couldn't give this client a
true report. Still, he had to make a report.
He
decided to give his operative Scott Palmer the job and
to stay away from Christine Ann during the two weeks of
the investigation. He would tell her about her husband's
suspicions later, after he had delivered the report.
They would have a good laugh then.
Two weeks
later, Scott Palmer, twenty-one, eager, and in love with
his job, came into Osborne's office. "I've finished the
Jones investigation. I'll have the report on your desk
first thing tomorrow morning."
"Great! Do me a
favor now, will you? Call Mr. Jones and ask him to come
to the office tomorrow morning at ten."
"You got
it. See you tomorrow."
But the next morning when
Jones walked into the office, Scott hadn't finished the
report yet.
"Good morning, Mr. Jones. Sit down.
Would you like a cup of coffee?" said Osborne, trying to
gain some time until his operative brought in the
report.
"That would be nice.
Thanks."
Osborne poured scalding hot coffee into
styrofoam cups, placing the sugar and cream within
Jones's reach.
When they had started drinking the
coffee, Scott walked into the office and, after greeting
Jones, gave a folder to his boss. Quickly, Osborne took
out the original and gave it to his client, keeping the
duplicate face down in front of him.
Jones read
the report without a change of expression. When he
finished, he looked at Osborne directly and said,
"Three."
"Beg your pardon?"
"I was afraid
of something like this. Three of them in only two
weeks."
"What are you talking
about?"
"Your report. It's really complete. It
shows that she had three lovers in two
weeks."
Osborne choked on his coffee, spilling
some on top of the copy of the report in front of him.
He exclaimed, "What!? Oh, pardon me." And, using the
excuse of wiping the coffee from each page of the
report, started reading it.
When he finished, he
felt weak and exhausted. With an effort, he raised his
eyes to the face of his client, who, with a knowing
look, asked slowly, enunciating each word very clearly,
in a tone that really didn't anticipate an answer,
"Don't you believe that there are some women you just
can't trust?"
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