by Wendy Tyson
“Paolo had it set. As a warning. They were threatening to tell your father. Enzo thought he could get more from us.” To Allison, Francesca said, “We bought them the bakery. A gift. For their silence. You understand, right?”
“You and my father knew John was in that building? You tried to kill him?” Alex said, backing toward the ladder.
“No! We only wanted to remind them not to get greedy, to take back what we had given. We didn’t know anyone was in there.” Sobs now, deep, throaty sobs. “The farm...we repaid them.”
“You can’t repay someone for disfigurement, Mother.”
That’s when Allison heard the distant wail of sirens. And footsteps, right overhead.
Francesca heard it, too. “Shhh,” she said. “Dom.”
But Alex was standing by the ladder, visibly shaking. Despite what he had done, Allison felt a frisson of sympathy. His whole childhood, his whole sense of self, ripped apart in one minute. And Francesca, in an attempt to protect her own, had wreaked havoc on a family. Enzo Pittaluga’s quote—echoed by his brother—came back to her, “An overflow of good converts to bad.” Shakespeare’s words had special meaning here.
She’d gone far to protect her son, to protect her family, from evil. And in doing so, had created the very thing she’d hoped to avoid.
Francesca gasped.
Dom was descending into the root cellar. Allison centered herself, knife in hand, ready to spring.
Thirty-Nine
Pushing off the wall, Allison flung her body against Alex, catching him off guard and knocking the gun from his hand.
She took advantage of the split second of confusion and grabbed the gun. Her knife fell. She kicked it toward Francesca, who bent to pick it up.
Now that Dom was coming, her client looked scared. Alex may have been the kidnapper, but it was Dom calling the shots.
“Alex!” Dom was halfway down the rope ladder now, and it swayed under his weight. He bent to see what was happening. When he spied Allison, his face contorted in rage. “One fucking task, Alex. One fucking task.”
Alex stood feet from the ladder, still in shock.
And Dom couldn’t let go of the ladder, or he would fall. Rain poured through the open cellar door, impeding his vision. Allison eyed the gun in her hands with wary distaste.
Heart slamming against her ribcage, head pounding, she steadied her hand and aimed the gun at Dom, then Alex. The sirens were louder now. She fought to stay calm.
Alex moved.
“Stop!” She pointed the gun in his direction. “We’re in a really close space. And I have a wicked migraine. Don’t tempt me.”
The sirens stopped.
“Let Alex go,” Francesca said.
Allison glanced quickly at her. “Are you serious? They kidnapped you, Francesca.”
Francesca lifted the knife. She pointed the tip at Allison. “He didn’t know. Let him go.”
“Francesca, this is serious.” Allison kept her eyes locked on Alex, then on Dom, keeping the gun level and her expression hard. “I can’t let him go.”
“Please. Let. Him. Go.” Francesca raised her arm, poised to throw the knife at Allison.
Allison, white-knuckled and furious, took a step toward Alex. “Do it, Francesca, and I pull the damn trigger. I mean it.” And in that moment, she did mean it.
“Put it down, Aunt Francesca.” Alex’s voice was thick—with sadness? Regret? Fear? Allison wasn’t sure and didn’t care. None of it mattered now.
Francesca let out a howl like a trapped and injured animal, low and guttural and agonized. But she dropped the knife and fell to her knees.
“Stay put, both of you,” Allison said, keeping the weapon trained on the two men. The police would be down here any minute. Patience, Al, she told herself. Breathe.
Forty
In the shadows of the late afternoon, Linden Street was quiet. Allison pulled up to the Edwards’ house with a rock in the pit of her stomach and a headache laying siege to her skull. But she forced herself out of the car and returned the wan smile of the two girls sitting on the porch—Kellie with an “ie” and, next to her, arms wrapped around long, skinny legs, Tammy Edwards.
“Hello, Allison,” Tammy said. She looked across the porch, into the sun, squinted, and cupped a hand across her forehead for shade. “Do you want my mother?”
“Is she home?”
Tammy nodded. “I don’t think she’ll want to talk to you, though.”
“Are you okay?”
Tammy glanced at her friend, as though for confirmation. Kellie smiled gently. Tammy shrugged. “My father’s in prison.”
“I heard. I’m so sorry, Tammy.”
The girl started to shrug again, seemed to think better of it, and said instead, “He said it was unavoidable.”
Allison climbed the steps and sat next to the two girls on the dusty porch flooring. “I want to tell your mother that I’m sorry.”
“She’s not much for apologies.”
“I did what I thought I needed to do at the time. We—I—thought you were in danger.”
Tammy took a long time to answer. She stared at her toenails, newly painted a coat of pearlescent pink, girlie and fresh. “When I overheard Denise talking about a kidnapping, I knew. I knew she was using me, and I ran. She didn’t see me as a star. She saw me as a way to get to someone else.” Tammy looked at Allison. “I also knew my father was involved. That she had been using him, too. That he had set her up with me as a favor to the Gretchkos.”
“And that’s why your mother kept your whereabouts a secret, isn’t it? To protect you. And to protect your dad from the police.”
Tammy nodded. “Mom’s known for a while Dad does odd jobs for the Gretchkos. But she didn’t know about this. She was angry. At him, at me.”
“But more than that, she was scared.” Allison guessed. “Scared that if the police started digging around, she’d lose you and your father.”
“Maybe.”
Tammy glanced at Kellie, who reached out and touched her friend’s hand. Thinking about Kellie’s alcoholic mother, Allison figured Kellie knew, as did Allison, about family heartache. About the lengths one would go to hide a loved one from pain—and accountability.
But sometimes, there was no hiding from the truth.
In this case, we came along and shone a big, fat light on everything, Allison thought. Now Tony Edwards was implicated, and Tammy was a witness. Allison thought about Mia’s story, about Thomas Svengetti and the others. She knew it was Tony Edwards who had chosen to play with fire, not her, but she wondered at the fate of this family. She prayed they’d make it through whatever was in store.
Allison rose to leave.
“Don’t you want to talk to my mom?” Tammy asked.
Allison shook her head. It was time to leave this family alone. She touched Tammy briefly, gently on the shoulder and smiled at Kellie. Her heart ached. No matter how one tried to do good, it seemed, there were always unintended consequences. The path to hell, Enzo Pittaluga had said. How right he was.
Mia pulled the shawl around her shoulders and snuggled down into the couch, against Vaughn. Allison watched them, happy to be here, surrounded once again by people she loved.
Jason was in the kitchen, making coffee, and Brutus was on the floor, next to Allison, his head on her lap. His severe underbite made breathing difficult, but that didn’t stop him from lying on his back, legs in the air, showing Allison just how thrilled he was to have her home by taking a nap.
It had been a few days since the last day in Ithaca, and Allison finally felt ready to talk about the ordeal. She knew in the days ahead, there would be police inquiries and reporters, and even that promised discussion with Jason, but for now she welcomed peace.
Mia said, “So why did Francesca write ‘Gina’ on that wall? In the hopes someone would find
her?”
Allison hadn’t stopped wondering the same thing. “I don’t think so. I think Francesca was more than willing to give up her own life by that point. She blames herself for Gina’s death. She saw the kidnapping as some sort of penance, and she was offering it up for Gina. I bet that second word was ‘sorry.’ In the misery of captivity, in the midst of being taken by the man she’d tried to protect, Francesca saw her life for what it was. A tragedy.”
Vaughn nodded. “And Gina’s ghost? Just a crazy Maria story?”
“Gina is a ghost, at least in the sense that her memory lingers, a reminder of guilt and regret.”
Jason came in and handed Allison and Mia coffee. He sank down onto the floor next to Allison and rubbed Brutus behind the ears. “Why did she stay in that house all those years? Did she say?”
Allison shook her head. “I think in the beginning, she was trying to stay out of sight. She was paranoid that her former husband and his family would find out the truth and lay claim to her son. But when Alex was older? I don’t know. Habit? Fear? Another form of penance?”
“Thinking that if she gave up her life, Alex could keep his?” Mia said.
Allison remembered the way Francesca had threatened her with the knife. A mother’s desperation. After forty plus years of sacrifice, her actions made a certain sense.
Mia took Vaughn’s hand and smiled. “I’m just thankful things worked out.”
Vaughn smiled back, but Allison caught the hint of worry in his eyes. He and Mia were so good together, but would it last? Vaughn’s world was still fragile. The cleansing light of honesty had strengthened his will and his life with Jamie, but Allison knew that Vaughn still felt vulnerable, and the Benini plight showed him just how vulnerable he really was. Even with Tammy back home with her mother and Francesca’s kidnappers in jail, Vaughn looked on edge. It would take a while to get normalcy back. Maybe he would never know normal.
She didn’t think she would, either.
Vaughn looked down at his hand, the one clasping Mia’s. “Enough about all of this. It will be nice to get back to work. Routine is sounding pretty damn good.”
Allison nodded. “Maybe we can stay out of trouble for at least a few weeks.” Jason shot her a sharp look. She winked. “Just kidding.”
Mia stood, gently disengaging from Vaughn. She re-wrapped the silk shawl around her and stepped into silver ballet flats. “If you folks will excuse me. Vaughn, you need to pick Jamie up from the police department in an hour. And I have a date to keep.”
“With Svengetti?” Allison asked.
It was Vaughn who responded. “She promised him the scoop.”
“So the Feds have what they need on the Gretchkos?”
“For now,” Jason said. “Francesca’s documentation helped. And Maria’s murder is being pinned on Andrei Gretchko. We’ll see if it sticks.”
“I guess Tammy will need a new manager,” Vaughn said. “Hard to manage musicians from jail.”
“Actually, I’m afraid Tammy doesn’t need a manager right now. After all this, she still wants to go to Juilliard. I just don’t know that any music career is in the cards. She says her mother is against it, is fighting the contract. If Tammy wants to pursue opera, she’ll need to find her own voice, to fight for what she wants. And as we all know, that’s not so easy.”
Gently, Allison pushed Brutus aside. She stood and gave Mia a hug, then walked her to the door. “Thank you,” she whispered. “For everything.” Allison looked behind her, at Jason, who was petting Brutus and chatting with Vaughn about baseball. “I know you talked to him.”
Mia nodded, gave Allison a poignant smile. With a glance back at Vaughn, Mia said, “Don’t hurt him, Allison. My son loves you.” She opened the door and stepped out into the summer heat.
Allison, face tilted up toward the baking sun, watched her go.
About the Author
Wendy Tyson’s background in law and psychology has provided inspiration for her mysteries and thrillers. Originally from the Philadelphia area, Wendy has returned to her roots and lives there again with her husband, three kids and two muses, dogs Molly and Driggs. Wendy’s short fiction has appeared in literary journals, including KARAMU, Eclipse, A Literary Journal and Concho River Review. Deadly Assets is the second novel in the Allison Campbell series.
In Case You Missed the 1st Book in the Series
KILLER IMAGE
Wendy Tyson
An Allison Campbell Mystery (#1)
As Philadelphia’s premier image consultant, Allison Campbell helps others reinvent themselves, but her most successful transformation was her own after a scandal nearly ruined her. Now she moves in a world of powerful executives, wealthy, eccentric ex-wives and twisted ethics.
When Allison’s latest Main Line client, the fifteen-year-old Goth daughter of a White House hopeful, is accused of the ritualistic murder of a local divorce attorney, Allison fights to prove her client’s innocence when no one else will. But unraveling the truth brings specters from her own past. And in a place where image is everything, the ability to distinguish what’s real from the facade may be the only thing that keeps Allison alive.
Read all about it at www.henerypress.com
Don’t Miss the 2nd Book in the Series
DYING BRAND
Wendy Tyson
An Allison Campbell Mystery (#3)
When image consultant Allison Campbell attends an award ceremony to honor a designer friend, she’s thrust into a murder investigation. Only this time, it’s personal.
A former boyfriend is dead, slain on the streets of Philadelphia. His widow claims he was meeting with Allison, yet Allison hadn’t spoken to him in years. Nothing about his death—or life—makes sense. When compromising photos from the past show up at Allison’s office, they raise more questions than they answer. Who wants her silence…and why?
Driven by the desire for justice and a need to understand her role, Allison deconstructs the image her ex had created for himself, looking for clues about the man he’d become and possible motives for his murder. Allison gets more than she’d bargained for, though, and as her hunt for the truth continues and secrets are unveiled, Allison’s past and present collide—with deadly results.
Available May 2015
Visit www.henerypress.com for details
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