Fatal Facade

by Wendy Tyson

  And Elle could continue whatever little decadent charade this was on her own time.

  It was the right approach. Only Allison felt a stab of remorse. She was in this business to help people. Despite Elle’s recent behavior, she obviously needed help. Her erratic behavior, her lack of insight. It wasn’t Allison’s nature to turn away from someone in need, a trait that had landed her in trouble more than once.

  TEN

  “Why are you back so soon?” Jason asked.

  Jason was packing. He stopped when Allison stormed into the bedroom. She grabbed her own suitcase from under the bed while recounting the basics of her discussion with Elle.

  “Don’t you think you’re overreacting just a little bit?”

  Allison plopped down on the bed. “No, I don’t. You saw how irrational she was about the three o’clock appointment.”

  “Maybe she did tell Hilda that. You only have one word against another.”

  Allison considered this. “Maybe, but I doubt it. After everything, I tend to believe Hilda.” Allison stood, thinking of her conversation with Karina. Maybe something was happening to Elle. But what could she do about it? “Bottom line? Change requires commitment. Without commitment, I’ve got nothing to work with. I’ve tried that route. Remember Maggie McBride? Look where it got me.”

  Maggie McBride had been a resistant client with difficult, overbearing parents. The relationship had warmed over time, but Allison had become embroiled in a murder investigation—and nearly lost her life. She kept in touch with Maggie, but change was slow for the teen. It had been an important lesson for Allison: transformation will come about only when someone is ready.

  Thunder boomed in the distance. A flash of lightning lit up the afternoon sky through the open windows.

  Jason pulled his shirt over his head. “Suit yourself. I’m going to shower. Join me?”

  Allison studied her fiancé’s lean, muscular body. She was interested, but not right now. She needed to pack. See to Grace.

  And call Dominic.

  “In what direction did she go?” It was Michael, and he seemed worried. He paced back and forth on the grass outside of Allison’s cottage. The rain had finally stopped, and Michael lit up his fourth cigarette in twice as many minutes. “Into the woods?”

  “I didn’t see. I told you, she wouldn’t come with me so I left without her.”

  “You left without her.”

  “Hey.” Jason took a step forward. “Allison’s a consultant, not a babysitter. Your sister—”

  “Half-sister.”

  “Half-sister, fine. Elle is a grown woman.”

  Michael flipped his half-used cigarette into the grass, stepped on it and lit another. His crew-cut, hooded eyes, and boxer’s nose made him look more thug than businessman. His attitude gave him a dangerous air. He blew concentric smoke rings and watched them dissipate. Allison tried to see any resemblance to Elle or Sam Norton. She was at a loss to identify physical similarities.

  “Damn. If something happens to Elle, I’m holding this woman responsible.” Michael pointed at Allison, shook his head in disgust, and strode off toward the pool area.

  “See what I mean,” Allison said.

  “I do.” Jason rubbed the back of Allison’s neck, digging strong fingers into the knots of tension. “I don’t like the thought of leaving you here tomorrow.”

  “I’ll call you when I know what I’m doing.”

  Jason grew silent. His fingers continued to massage her neck, but Allison read the disapproval in his expression.

  “You think I should stay.” It was a statement, not a question.

  Jason took a while to respond. “I just don’t think you’ll be rid of this family that easily,” he said eventually. “They’re more like warts than blisters. Why not dig in your heels and give it a go? If she won’t cooperate, that’s on her. But at least she’ll be the one quitting, not you.”

  As was often the case, Jason made a lot of sense.

  Michael had left the pool and was heading toward the stables. As Allison watched him, she thought about Jason’s description. Wart was an apt analogy. Allison could already feel the roots, burrowing deep.

  Vaughn called at seven. It was still light outside, and Allison had just returned from a walk around the perimeter of the property, looking for Elle. Jason was out with a larger search party scouring the woods beyond the stable.

  “Do you have a few minutes?” Vaughn asked.

  He sounded distracted and grouchy. Allison listened while he filled her in on all the ins and outs of First Impressions: who had requested more services, who was disputing a bill, who had asked Allison to speak.

  “Are you writing?” he asked when he’d finished with the business summary.

  “A little.”

  “Well get on it. Your agent called. The publisher wants to push the release date up by three months.”

  “No way.”

  “She thought you would say that. They’re offering a carrot: an additional twenty-five percent advance. And a stick.”

  Allison waited.

  “A ghost writer. One way or another, the date gets moved.”

  “Damn.”

  “You’d better be hitting that keyboard.” He paused, and Allison could hear sirens in the distance. He must be at the office, she thought. It was only lunch time in Philadelphia.

  “Ah, well, I may have more time to write than I thought.” Allison caught Vaughn up on the latest, including Elle’s sabbatical from the castle. “Everyone seems convinced she’s done something stupid. They have me pretty nervous too.”

  “You’re not a counselor. If she needs psychiatric help, she should get it from someone else.”

  Allison didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. One of her basic rules, handed down from the days her mentor and soon-to-be mother-in-law owned the business, was “know your limits.” She might be a dissertation shy of a PhD in psychology, but she wasn’t a therapist. Life coach? Maybe, though she detested that description. But she was definitely not a psychologist.

  “I didn’t just call to give you an update,” Vaughn said. “I have some more information on Elle’s brother, Michael.”

  Allison waited.

  “He did time.”

  “As in prison?” The bruise on Elle’s wrist flashed in her mind. “For what?”

  “Identity theft. Fraud.”

  “Oh, wow.” This was unexpected. “Any details?”

  “He had a whole scam going. Did three years of house arrest before daddy came to the rescue. A few sob stories, a few well-tailored suits with law degrees from the right schools, and your boy was a changed man. Finished up probation when he was twenty-nine.”

  “And now he’s helping to run an endowment?”

  “Glad I’m not the only one who thinks that’s a bad idea.”

  A noise interrupted Allison’s thoughts. She stood to get a better glimpse of the commotion coming from the spa area. “Hold on,” she said to Vaughn.

  Hilda and Grace joined her from the cottage. “Maybe they found Miss Elle,” Hilda said. “Do you want me to see?”

  “Yes,” Allison said. “Thank you. Grace can stay here.”

  “Nothing violent in Michael’s past?” Allison asked when Hilda was out of ear shot.

  “Not that we could find.”

  “Anything suspicious about his mother’s death?”

  “Again, not that we found. Why are you so interested in this guy?”

  “I don’t know.” She realized as she said the words that they had become her mantra as of late. “I just have a bad feeling about him. He has pimp written all over him.”

  Vaughn laughed. “Are you the one usually preaching that the cover and the content don’t always match?”

  “Yeah, well. Sometimes you have to trust your gut.” Before he could say an
ything else, Allison asked, “That it?”

  Just as the words left her mouth, two forms started walking through the meadow toward the cottages. Hilda and Karina.

  “Gotta go,” Allison said. “I’ll keep you posted on Elle—and her crazy family.”

  “Please,” Vaughn said. “The suspense is killing me. It’s like a drama unfolding—without the need for TV.”

  ELEVEN

  “We found her.” It was Karina who spoke first. “She’d been in the spa the entire time.”

  Relief flooded over Allison. Then another emotion took hold. Anger. More of Elle’s games—making people wait, search, and worry while she sat in the spa. Allison stood, taking Grace’s hand. “I’m glad she’s okay.” Allison’s voice came across more harshly than she’d intended.

  Hilda, clearly sensing Allison’s frustration, said, “Give her time. Please.”

  Allison was past the point of discussion on this topic. A petulant client who showed no real interest in working with her. A half-brother with a threatening demeanor and a record. A group of hedonistic hang abouts. Not the formula for success. But Allison could still hear Jason’s warning.

  More gently, Allison said, “I’ll reimburse Elle for our stay. She can send a bill to my business address.”

  Grace pulled on her arm. Allison leaned down and the child whispered, “I don’t want to go.”

  Hilda said, “Miss Elle’s father is ill. He is…well, he is dying. Slowly. She has a lot to deal with and no real friends. I think it would mean a lot to her. Give her a second chance.” She glanced at Karina. “Since Damien died, she has no one she can trust.”

  Allison was caught off guard by the plea. Until now, Hilda had stayed in the shadows, more interested in Grace than adults. Karina, too, looked taken aback by Hilda’s outburst. She stared at her colleague with unabashed surprise.

  “Please, Aunt Allison? Can we stay? We haven’t even played with the goats yet. Miss Hilda promised tomorrow we’d see the goats.”

  Jason and another man—the stooped, balding man Allison had seen at the pool—were coming from the vicinity of the main house. Allison watched their progress.

  “I don’t know,” Allison said finally. “I’m afraid Elle may just not be ready.”

  “Tell her yourself, then,” Karina said. Some of her moxie had returned, or perhaps she was still smarting from Hilda’s implied statement that Karina couldn’t be trusted. In either case, her tone was sharp. “She’s waiting for you down by the pool.”

  Jason had reached the cottage on the end, two doors down from theirs. Allison nodded. “I guess that’s fair.”

  It was another ten minutes before Allison could leave. Jason introduced her to Sam Norton’s lawyer. They shook hands cordially. Allison was aware of the attorney’s steady stare. He seemed to be sizing her up.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” Allison said.

  Before she could leave the cottage, the lawyer stopped her. With a glance at Jason, he asked for a moment of her time—alone.

  “I suppose.” It’s not like things can get any stranger, Allison thought.

  The two met on garden patio. The lawyer, an American, got right to business.

  “You signed a contract with Ms. Rose, did you not?”

  “I don’t sign contracts.”

  “You signed a confidentiality agreement.”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled a copy out of his jacket. “Would you agree that this gives rise to an implied contract for services?”

  “I would not agree.”

  “I think a court of law would see it otherwise, especially when combined with certain ancillary correspondence between you, Ms. Rose, and a certain Christopher Vaughn, who I believe is an agent of your company, First Impressions.” He arched unruly eyebrows over tiny snake eyes.

  He’d done his homework. But so had she. “My fiancé, a lawyer, reviewed the agreement. I’ve agreed to hold confidential information learned about Elle and her immediate family members, except in certain cases having to do with criminal activity or possible harm to me or my family.” Allison raised her own eyebrows. “The agreement very specifically says if I continue in her employ.”

  The lawyer chewed on the end of a Bic pen. “I see.”

  “Look, I’m not sure what you’re after, so maybe you can simply tell me.”

  “Michael says you’re planning to leave.”

  “That’s between me and my client.”

  “I see.”

  Allison rose. “Are we finished here? If you have legal questions, you can talk to my fiancé. Otherwise, I’m going to speak to my client.”

  “Do you know why you’re here?”

  Allison paused to face the lawyer. “Enlighten me.”

  “Because I suggested that Elle call you.” He smiled. “Well, to be more exact, I suggested she call someone. She’s had a very difficult time since Damien died. And with Michael in the picture, she feels that certain things—like her existence here—are threatened.”

  “Are they?”

  Another smile, this one more genuine. “I don’t know.”

  “So you felt it would be best for her to have an existence that’s not dependent on Daddy’s money.”

  “Precisely.” He shook his head. “And despite what she may think, I do care about what happens to her. Elle’s money—what she has, anyway—is tied up in a trust. If her father outlives his money, she won’t inherit anything additional, except maybe a piece of several properties. In the meantime, she can’t stay here forever, drinking from the family tit.”

  “And why can’t she?”

  “It’s not good for her.”

  “So nothing is really stopping Elle from remaining.”

  The lawyer frowned. It changed the look of his face: added ten years to his appearance and a layer of wrinkles to the skin around his full mouth. “I’m afraid that’s between me and my client.”

  Allison found Elle still in the spa. She was sitting at the table by the kiosk, a cup of hot tea and a notebook on the table in front of her. She was still wearing her ridiculously short mini and the tank top, although she’d washed the smudges of mud off her face and legs.

  “You caused quite a stir.”

  Allison sat across from her, settling in on the wooden chair and enjoying the warmth of the inviting room. She wasn’t going to enjoy what she needed to do, but at least the conversation was here, away from prying eyes and big ears.

  “They’re ridiculous.”

  “They were worried about you.”

  Silence.

  Allison waited a moment, then said, “Karina said you wanted to talk to me.”

  Elle pushed the notebook across the table. “Open it.”

  Allison did. She found six pages of copious notes in Elle’s loopy, flowery handwriting. Allison looked up. “What am I looking at?”

  “You want goals? You want to know my vision? It’s all there.”

  Allison began to read. Elle had, indeed, written goals. Lots of them. Get a better hair style. Learn to dance and audition for Dancing with the Stars. Botox. Boob job? Date Bradley Cooper. Go vegan. Learn Italian. Learn German. Stop biting my nails. Get clean. Eat three squares. Use moisturizer. Learn to ride horses. Be nicer to Hilda. Floss. Go to Grammys. Better dress for Grammys. Bury Damien’s ashes.

  Allison stopped at “bury Damien’s ashes.” At first she thought Elle was joking, but as she read through the seemingly random list a pattern began to emerge. It wasn’t just that Elle wanted to get herself together—maybe she did, maybe she didn’t—but what was most telling were the Hollywood references. Here she was in Italy, removed from the glamor and vapidity of the Hills, and she thought the person she needed to be was that person. A clone. A southern California wannabe.

  Allison put the book aside.

  Elle said, “I don’t want yo
u to go.”

  Allison took a hard look at Elle. She saw the chipped front tooth, the tiny red scar along her right jawline, the jagged fingernails, the faint stretch marks along her inner arms. Did Elle Rose even know who existed beneath the layers? Or was her persona one fabrication layered over another, with the center a small, hard bit of nothing?

  Am I being unfair? Allison thought. Isn’t everyone’s life complicated? It doesn’t take much for a life to unravel.

  Allison said, “Answer me one question.”

  “Anything.”

  “Who are you doing this for?”

  Elle turned her head toward the solarium windows. She knocked her pen against the wooden table, gnawed at the edge of a thumbnail.

  “Me,” she said.

  “Okay, then.” Allison started to stand.

  Elle looked at her expectantly.

  “Let’s get started. For real this time.”

  TWELVE

  The next four days went by without event. Jason left on schedule, and Hilda practically moved into the cottage. She played with Grace daily, taking her swimming, walking, and horseback riding, and reading to her in four languages: English, French, Italian, and her native German. As with most children, Grace picked up words and phrases quickly, and by day three she was saying and comprehending simple sentences. When asked if she was ready for bed, she’d say, “Nein danke, Tante Allison.” No, thank you, Aunt Allison. It always made Allison smile.

  Allison took most meals in the cottage accompanied by Grace and Hilda. Even Elle joined them occasionally, digging into the robust meals delivered by Dominic. Wine, sausage, potatoes, cheese and meat dumplings with browned butter, and the ubiquitous, but delicious, Caprese salads the chef made with fresh tomatoes, basil, and succulent local mozzarella.

  They developed a rhythm. Morning coffee and breakfast on the garden patio followed by a walk around the meadows and into the shallow forest near the horse stables. Then Hilda would take Grace while Allison met Elle at the castle. They would work until lunch and take a break for a light snack on the castle veranda. At three, they would break again and Allison would spend an hour or two by the pool with Grace. Allison avoided the other guests. After the incident in the woods, she had no desire to see Shirin and Douglas or Lara and Jeremy. She didn’t trust that her poker face would win her even one hand.