by Wendy Tyson
The interior of the building was clean, fresh and very modern. A receptionist sat surrounded by freshly-cut flowers. Allison announced herself and asked to see Julie Fitzsimmons.
“Do you have an appointment?” the woman asked. She was in her sixties and had the well-scrubbed, glowing complexion of a woman who’d recognized the benefits of a good diet and exercise long before it became trendy.
“I’m afraid not.” Allison handed the woman her card. Taking note of the placard that identified the receptionist, Allison said, “But I think Ms. Fitzsimmons will agree to see me, Dottie. I’m here to talk about brand recognition and the changes Transitions is going through.”
Dottie looked through emerald-green reading glasses that matched her sweater set. “First Impressions?” She looked skeptical. “Ms. Fitzsimmons doesn’t generally see people without an appointment—”
“This isn’t a sales call.”
“And you’re not a reporter?”
“No.”
Dottie nodded, looking somewhat mollified. She dialed. After a few moments of unintelligible exchange, Dottie said, “If you’re willing to wait until nine-thirty, Julie will see you then.”
Allison was willing to wait and she told Dottie as much. She positioned herself in a bamboo chair and watched as Transitions employees made their way into the office. Despite the welcoming atmosphere, no one stopped to chat with Dottie and few people talked to one another. A busy Monday, or a corporate culture that hadn’t quite caught up with its cheery image?
True to her word, at nine-thirty Julie Fitzsimmons fetched Allison from the waiting area. Up close, Allison got a better look at her. Dark red hair, almost auburn, had been carefully curled into a sleek shoulder-length bob. She had bright green eyes and a tall, slender body. As the head of public relations, Julie would be a good choice. Her open, friendly face was lovely enough to be interesting, but not so beautiful that others would find her threatening.
Allison glanced at her left hand. No wedding ring.
“Thank you for seeing me, Ms. Fitzsimmons,” Allison said. “I was hoping we could chat.” She handed the woman a business card. “Your company is undergoing some changes. Change is my specialty.”
Julie tilted her head. “I’m not sure I understand.”
Allison glanced around the waiting area. “Could we go somewhere private? Scott recommended I speak with you. Scott Fairweather.”
Julie’s face contorted. “Scott’s…well, Scott’s…”
“Passed. I know.” Allison looked duly mournful. “I was at his funeral. You may have seen me there?”
“Maybe. Scott’s death…well, it came as a shock.” Julie took a deep breath, gave Allison a half smile, and then threw her hands up in the air. “Let’s go to one of the conference rooms. I can give you about fifteen minutes. Will that do?”
“I appreciate your time.”
In the conference room, Julie closed the door and offered Allison a seat. After settling in, Julie said, “What’s the real reason you’re here?” When Allison didn’t respond, Julie continued. “I’m familiar with First Impressions. We’ve considered using you to help our sales crew in the new campaign. But Scott put the kibosh on the idea.”
Allison tried to look like her professional ego was bruised, but couldn’t. Her mind was spinning with how best to respond when Julie said, “Look, I know you and Scott dated once upon a time.”
Seemed like everyone knew her business these days, everyone but the one man who should. Allison sat back in her chair. She kept her gaze steady, giving away nothing.
“Don’t worry,” Julie said. “Your secret’s safe with me. We’re like sisters in that regard.” She shrugged. “The Slept with Scott Club.”
“You and Scott?”
“For the better part of a year.” Julie looked down at French-manicured fingernails. “He ended things about three weeks ago.” She glanced up. “Okay, two weeks, six days and nine hours ago. Right after we’d slept together. Nice, huh?”
“Did he say why?”
Julie looked sharply at her, eyebrows arched. “He’s married.”
“He’s been married for some time, Julie,” Allison said gently. “That doesn’t seem to have stopped him.”
Julie looked away. Allison saw fine lines and dark circles, carefully hidden beneath expertly-applied concealer. Julie Fitzsimmons was burdened and tired, and no amount of spit and polish could completely hide that.
Finally Julie said, “The baby.”
“Did you know about his wife and the baby?” Allison asked softly. “Before you became involved, that is.”
Julie nodded. “In my role, image is everything. What will people say about the company? What could end up in the New York Times or Wall Street Journal? How do you spin this or that so that it has the right effect? Having an affair with a married man was hardly a smart thing to do. But I couldn’t stop myself. Scott was so…there.” She shrugged. “I should have known better.”
“Things happen.”
“Yes.” Julie’s lips twisted. “Things happen.”
Allison was silent for a moment while she absorbed what Julie was telling her. Scott hadn’t changed his ways. His affair with Allison may have been a first, but his risk-taking behavior hadn’t ended there. “Did Scott seem different to you in the weeks leading up to his death?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Is it possible he was on something?”
“Do you mean drugs?” When Allison nodded, Julie shook her head vehemently back and forth. “No way. He did seem different…distracted and moody. But he would never have taken drugs. He was too concerned about his looks for that.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” Julie sat quietly. Allison heard the whir of the heating vents, the murmur of voices in the hallway. After a while, Julie shifted forward in her chair and glanced toward the door. “Someone has been sending me photos,” she whispered.
Allison felt frozen in place.
“Photos of what?”
“Photos of…us. Scott and me.” She looked away. “Photos I wouldn’t want shared on the internet.”
Julie’s face twitched, her hands shook. She was scared. The tired eyes and burdened posture were not caused by guilt; they were caused by fear.
“Is someone threatening you, Julie? Letters, calls? Blackmail?”
Julie shook her head.
“Have you gone to the police?”
“No!” Julie covered her mouth with her hand. “I’ve said too much already.”
Allison leaned forward. She toyed with whether or not to be candid with Julie and decided against it. Under the wrong circumstances, candor could get her killed. “Why tell me at all?”
“Have you ever had a relationship with a married man, Allison?”
“No. But I’ve done things…things I’m not proud of.”
Julie smiled wanly. “It changes your life, and not for the better. Your friends who don’t know become like strangers. There’re so many things you keep hidden from them. And the friends who do know? Well, they’re judging you. Whether they say so or not, your life is always on trial. As a result, you keep your circle small. You start to live for the moments you’re with him. Your universe becomes so tiny. That’s what happened to me.
“I’m telling you, Allison, because I have no one else to tell. When I confronted Scott about his reaction to hiring your firm, he told me your story. How you’d been lovers. How you were cheating on your husband and he on his fiancé.”
“I wasn’t—”
She held up her hand. “No need to make excuses with me. Just watch out. If I’m on her radar, you very well may be, too.”
“Her? Scott’s wife?”
Julie shook her head. She stood, newly composed. “Eleanor Davies.”
That name rang a bell, too. Another woman from the so
cial networking site. Another colleague. “You think she’s behind the pictures?”
Julie smiled. “Oh, I’m sure of it. Here’s the neat thing about Scott. He was a sex addict. He slept with women compulsively. I realized that too late. And Eleanor? She didn’t want anyone else to have Scott. Not me, not his wife.”
Allison thought about the photos. A lover may have had access to his private things. She may have wanted to warn off other women. But still, something didn’t add up. “Scott’s dead. Why send the photos now? What could Eleanor possibly gain?”
“She’s crazy. Her actions don’t have to make sense.”
“Still—”
Julie shrugged. “I have to go. If you say we had this conversation, I’ll deny it. But I don’t think you will.” She gave Allison a look that said they were part of a secret club, a club Allison wanted no part of. “If you get photos, just don’t go to the police.”
“Why?”
“It will stir up trouble for Transitions. And we can’t take any more trouble.”
“Eleanor works here, too, right?”
Julie nodded. Her hand was on the doorknob. She looked ready to flee.
“Then why not go to the source? Tell her to stop.”
“Why, indeed?” Julie said. “Because Eleanor is gone. Left without notice. No one’s heard from her since.”
“Since when?”
“Since Scott’s murder.”
THIRTEEN
Eleanor’s stash of cash was low. She’d spent last night in The Sweet Dreams Motel, a misnomer if ever there was one. It had been one of those mom and pop small motels in the Appalachian Mountains, a place where you could rent by the month if you wanted. And some folks clearly did. The mattress was saggy, the room smelled of mothballs and mildew, with an overcoat of Lysol that couldn’t mask either, and ants were crawling around the bathroom floor. But Eleanor needed to pay cash, and they accepted cash with only a brief glance at her driver’s license. No credit card required.
She’d pushed the rickety dresser in front of the door and slept fully clothed, thinking about her sister’s body stuffed in that cooler.
She needed a gun. And a place to stay.
Now, after filling her tank at the cheapest station she could find, she sat in the shadows of the Quick Mart, eating mini blueberry pies (two for a dollar) and pondering her next move. Her phone was off—she’d seen many thrillers on the big screen and knew others could track her using her phone—and she was afraid to use a credit card or withdraw cash.
Eleanor counted out her last dollars: $61.72. Where was she going to go for $61.72? Her parents were dead, her sister was dead, and she had no friends. None she could trust with something this big, anyway.
She finished the last bite of Bonny Berry’s Blueberry Pie, crumpled the wrapper, stuffed it into her trash sack and started the engine. She was in North Carolina, somewhere along Route 95. The sun was high in the sky, and clouds were nonexistent. It should have been a beautiful day. But she couldn’t shake the grip of fear that had overtaken her normally fearless mind. Eleanor hated weakness. She had to stop running.
A car pulled into the lot. It only took Eleanor a second to realize it was a red Ferrari, like the one she’d seen a few nights ago. Could it be…? No, this driver was young and female. It took Eleanor a minute to calm her racing heart. She couldn’t take anything at face value right now. Ginny’s dead body told her that.
She pulled around to the back of the gas station, as far out of the Ferrari’s line of sight as possible. When she was back on the road, she floored it, ignoring the squeal of her tires on blacktop.
With a sudden burst of inspiration, Eleanor knew where to go next. She would arrive unannounced and she would be anything but welcome, but she didn’t much care. She turned on the GPS and put in the name of her general destination. Then she headed north.
Allison arrived at the Indian buffet a few minutes early. She took a seat at a small table in the back of the restaurant, far from the food and next to a wall of windows, and ignored the three emails from Vaughn wondering where the heck she was. The air was laced with the exotic smells of curry and ginger. Allison’s stomach rumbled.
Mark arrived on time.
Allison saw him before he saw her. He glanced around. He wore a charcoal gray off-the-rack suit, a white shirt and red tie that sat left of center, and slightly scuffed black loafers. He nodded at the restaurant host and mumbled something at the same time that he spotted Allison in the corner. She waved.
“Glad you’re punctual. Women are always late.” He stood over the table, slightly out of breath. “Want to get some food first? I’m hungry and my schedule’s packed.”
Allison nodded. She rose and followed him to the buffet, marveling at the amount of food he managed to fit on his plate, including rice, chicken tikka, baighan bartha, braised goat and naan. Allison chose rice and a sampling of the vegetable dishes, then paused to get a hot cup of chai tea.
Back at the table, Mark dug in, attacking his food with the ferocity of a man who hadn’t eaten in days. Allison watched him, cognizant of the time.
“Do you mind if I ask you some questions while you finish your lunch?”
Mark smiled. “Finish? This is just round one. I’m good for at least two, maybe three.” He scooped up some chickpeas with a piece of limp naan. “Shoot. What do you want to know?”
Allison decided to be blunt. “I’ve read the news reports about Scott’s murder. They all allude to drugs. Do you think there’s anything to that?”
Mark looked up from his plate. “Why do you care?”
“Because he didn’t seem the type.”
Mark studied her. “My brother never did drugs. Scott was in great shape. He ran, lifted weights, and loved—I mean loved—indoor sports, if you know what I mean. And I think you do.” He smiled, and Allison frowned. “Scott loved life,” Mark continued between bites. “He loved pleasure, yes, but not the kind of pleasure you get from drugs. I don’t think he would have done anything to jeopardize…things.”
“Things?”
Mark took a sip of water, then waved to the waiter. “A pitcher for the table, amigo.”
The waiter, who didn’t look thrilled at being called Mark’s amigo, nodded. He was back seconds later with water.
“Stuff’s damn spicy today, don’t you think?”
Allison voiced her agreement, although she hadn’t touched her food. “What wouldn’t your brother have jeopardized, Mark? Leah and the baby? His job?”
Mark put down his fork. He made a show of looking Allison in the eyes. “Sex. Yes, some drugs can enhance the experience, true, but others, especially the hard stuff, can kill the libido. Or even worse: they can make the equipment fail, if you know what I mean.”
Allison knew exactly what he was saying. Clearly, subtlety was not Mark’s specialty. She said, “So Scott would have been concerned about his ability to have…marital relations?”
Mark laughed. “Sure, whatever you want to call it. My brother liked the sins of the flesh. But then, you know that, don’t you?” Mark flashed a lascivious smile that made Allison’s stomach turn. She pushed her uneaten plate away and decided to ignore his comments, again—for now.
“Then why would someone want him dead?”
“Who the hell knows? Wrong place, wrong time? Pissed off someone’s husband?”
Neither of those reasons rang true. “What can you tell me about Scott’s role at Transitions?”
Mark swallowed the last of his meal, leaving only a forkful of rice. “Scott was the Director of Marketing. Fantastic job for him, all things considered.”
“All things considered?”
“My brother got canned from his last job. Okay, not canned exactly, more like demoted. But it sure felt like being fired to Scott. You know how competitive he was.”
“What happened?”
“So he became a spin doctor.”
“With my help.” Mark stood and glanced at his watch. “Let me get more grub. I need to be out of here in fifteen.”
While Mark made his second trip to the buffet, Allison thought about what he’d said. She wasn’t surprised. Disappointed, but not surprised. In her view, any man who would take photos without his partner’s consent was of suspect moral character. And Mark’s story corroborated Julie’s characterization of Scott.
When Mark returned, plate again piled high, Allison asked, “Did Leah know?”
Mark placed a plate of naan in front of her. “Here, I got you some. Nice and hot.” He sat down and picked up his fork. “Did Leah know why he left Tenure Polk?”
Allison nodded.
“No. All he told her was that they wanted to move him to Montreal. Leah hates the cold. Kind of ironic, frigid bitch that she is.”
“You don’t like her much?”
“More like she doesn’t like me.” He shrugged. “Still angry that I got a finder’s fee for Scott’s job.”
Allison thought back to Scott’s job history. The man she remembered was a gifted businessman: smart, strategic and smooth-talking. That Scott wouldn’t have needed help. “What did you do for him, Mark?”
“I was drafting some separation agreements for Transition’s current CFO. He mentioned that they needed an executive with a marketing background, preferably someone with international experience. After Scott’s role at Mystic and his dealings in India, he seemed like a shoe-in. I played matchmaker. They hit it off.”