Killer Image

by Tyson, Wendy

  Sunny had called just a half hour before, while Allison and Maggie had been playing with Brutus. She’d spoken first to Maggie, but her speech was so slurred from crying that Maggie had trouble understanding her. Maggie had handed her mobile phone to Allison, who agreed to drive Maggie right home.

  On the phone, Sunny had been clear about one thing: Udele had been murdered. And it looked like another ritualistic death. With Udele dead, it seemed even Maggie’s family suspected Maggie’s involvement. So much for rallying around your own.

  “Allison,” Sunny said, “please don’t try to see my daughter again. She’s fragile. When Hank finds out she was with you, he’ll wonder what’s been going on. And now Udele. You have to see. It all looks bad.”

  Sunny sniffled. Catherine came back outside and took her mother’s arm. Allison watched the three women go inside, Catherine and the stranger supporting Sunny on either side. Sunny was weak, that was evident. She would be little help to Maggie. And Catherine obviously didn’t give a hoot about her sister. Sunny’s words rang through Allison’s head: When Hank finds out she was with you, he’ll wonder...

  Yes, he will. And he will blame. What was the old saying? Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Hank didn’t scare her. But, against her better judgment, she’d gotten herself mixed up in a murder investigation. And worse, Allison recognized that niggling feeling, that creeping, crawling gut sense, as fear. Fear for another teenager about to be caught up in the vagaries of youth and fate.

  Allison headed back to her car. She knew she should run far from the McBride family. Let Maggie go...que sera sera. Focus on work and writing and presenting and all the things she was good at, and leave the caring for people who were better equipped to deal with the fallout. She told herself: Get in, drive, don’t look back.

  And she did. She pulled out of that driveway like she was escaping Satan himself, ran the first stop sign, and plowed through a yellow light. But Maggie’s face, her eyes searching and pleading, stayed with her, replaced after a moment with Violet’s. Damn. There was nothing she could do for Violet. But for Maggie there was hope. Allison thought about Maggie with Brutus, the way she risked her own neck to save a stray animal. Maggie wasn’t a murderer. But Allison didn’t trust a single person in Maggie’s family to care more about that kid than they did about themselves, and that terrified her.

  But what could she do?

  The phone rang, breaking her train of thought. Caller I.D. told her it was Vaughn.

  “You’d better head over to the office,” he said. “I have something to show you.”

  Allison was about to tell him about Maggie, but something in his tone stopped her. “Is it bad?”

  “Just come in. We’ll talk when you get here.”

  Twenty—One

  It wasn’t the worst thing. But it was bad enough.

  “Sit,” Vaughn said when Allison arrived at First Impressions. His manner was curt, his rage barely contained. She took the chair opposite his desk. He tossed her a copy of Philadelphia Living. An article was circled and a few sentences were highlighted in neon green.

  Vaughn said, “Just read the highlighted portion.”

  Allison looked down at the paper in her hand, head pounding, and read:

  In her book, Allison Campbell says there are no nightmare clients. While that may be the case, this reporter spoke to one client who said it’s Allison who is a nightmare. Catherine McBride’s family hired First Impressions to work with her sister. “What we thought we were getting and what we received were two very different things,” Ms. McBride said. “Allison Campbell took on a role she couldn’t handle. My sister got worse, not better. In my book, she’s nothing but a neatly packaged fraud.” Indeed, this reporter discovered that Allison has skeletons in her own closet, including a patient who ran away and disappeared almost a decade ago. Perhaps image consulting boils down to some simple concepts, as Ms. Campbell says in her book, but it seems some jobs are too difficult for even this local wizard.

  Allison read it twice, and then skimmed the rest of the article. Details about the Meadows, her humble rise to success. Violet’s name was never specifically mentioned, but Allison felt no less violated for that fact.

  “I knew McBride was trouble from the start,” Vaughn said. “Bastard.”

  Allison threw the article onto Vaughn’s desk and took a deep breath. She needed to think. She felt a fist-sized knot in her stomach. Udele’s murder, the implication that Maggie did it, even Mia’s involvement. It was all too much. And now this. If McBride continued on his campaign, he could ruin her. She could fight back with the truth, but even the mere insinuation that she was incompetent from the right people could mean adios in this business.

  “I’m afraid that’s not all.” She gave Vaughn an abbreviated version of what had happened at the McBride’s. “If Maggie gets charged with the murders, the McBrides have paved the way for linking this all to me. Just mention of my name next to a scandal could be disastrous for the business.”

  Vaughn looked skeptical. “The timing is off, Allison. You didn’t even know Maggie or the McBrides when Feldman was killed.”

  “Won’t matter. Most people won’t take the time to understand the details. They’ll connect my name with Maggie and the murders. This line of business is not that different from restaurants. True or not, just a rumor of rodents or bugs and a restaurant fails. We can’t risk that.”

  Vaughn nodded his agreement. His hands were clenched by his side. He stared at Allison with concern in his eyes and said softly, “Are you going to be okay?”

  Allison shrugged. “Do I get a choice?” She forced a smile. “There’s just one thing I don’t get.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Why does McBride hate me so much? He and Catherine seemed to take an instant dislike to me.”

  Vaughn reached across the desk and squeezed Allison’s hand. “It’s what the Allisons of the world do to the McBrides of the world. You make them feel small. And they’re not used to feeling small.”

  Allison stared at him, unsure of his meaning.

  Vaughn used his hands for emphasis. “Look, you’re attractive and successful. People like McBride expect you to be superficial and vapid, too. When he found out you had a heart and an I.Q., it wasn’t so easy to dismiss you. And you didn’t kiss his ass. Then there’s Maggie. She hates McBride, but likes you. And instead of becoming obedient like Hank wanted, she’s started to assert herself in healthy ways. That’s threatening. For folks like the McBrides, people who can’t be controlled upset their whole world view.”

  Allison thought back to her first outing with Maggie, to the day this all started, really. Maggie had referred to her own mother as someone who does what she’s told. Disdain for herself on some level? Maybe Vaughn had a point.

  “I don’t mean to make anyone feel small.”

  “Doesn’t matter.” Vaughn shrugged. “The harder you try to make some people feel good, the more they’ll resent you for it. With certain individuals, you can never really win.”

  “I guess.”

  Vaughn sized her up from across the desk. “Something else is eating at you, Allison. Out with it.”

  “I’m that transparent?”

  “Kinda.”

  Allison looked at her hands. Her nails were short, bitten almost to the quick, a habit she’d thought she’d broken long ago. Her head still hurt and her aching jaw told her that she was grinding her teeth again. It didn’t take a PhD in psychology to know that these were all signs of stress.

  “Mia and Maggie,” Allison said finally. “If it’s not bad enough that there’s a murderer out there, two people I care about are involved.”

  “There’s nothing you can do about that, Allison. Let it go. Focus on work. Mia’s innocent.”

  Allison glanced at him sharply. “And Maggie?”

  Quietly, he said,
“I don’t know.”

  Allison stared at him. She closed her eyes, counted to ten and focused on her breathing. Even Vaughn was questioning Maggie’s innocence. Was she crazy? Was she missing something? It had happened before.

  Allison stood. Her watch said it was 4:35. She could be in Mt. Joy, Pennsylvania in an hour and a half, two hours with traffic.

  “Do me a favor? See if you can find out the time of Udele’s death from your police contacts.”

  “Mia’s alibi?”

  Allison nodded. “The sticking point for Mia has been her whereabouts at the time of Arnie’s murder. The day Udele disappeared, Jason was at Mia’s. If she can prove an alibi, her name could be cleared—for that murder, at least. “

  “Of course, Allison, but where are you going?”

  “I have some thinking to do.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question.”

  Allison grabbed her purse. “I’m going back to my professional roots, Vaughn. It’s a trip I should have made a long time ago.”

  Night fell fast in the country. Allison pulled the Volvo through an old chain link gate, now hanging by one hinge, and onto blistered, buckled blacktop. The sun was already sinking low in the sky. Mature pines and maples danced shadows across the parking lot that once belonged to the Meadows.

  Long abandoned, the Meadows had become a graveyard. The imposing building sat empty, its windows shattered behind iron bars, proof that nothing could be kept safe. Allison parked at the far side of the lot, behind the building. She climbed out of the car, traded Jimmy Choos for her running shoes, and walked toward the institution that had been such a part of her past.

  Surrounded by a tall chain link fence, then acres of woods, and then farm land, the Meadows was a prison within concentric circles of green. Nature had reclaimed what she could. The roof had caved in places, and the thick branch of an oak tree speared through asphalt shingles like a knife through a body. The neat hedges had turned into wild sentries, their bristling green tentacles reaching into broken windows. Gnarled vines, bits of paper and cardboard and discarded cans had accumulated in corners. The steel-door entryway remained intact, but next to them, someone had spray painted “Love Shack” in red bubble letters. Allison shook her head. So far from the truth.

  She stepped over a broken iced tea bottle and through a thicket of tall grass that had sprouted between sidewalk cracks. She stared into a broken window at the former lobby. It was empty, except for one lone chair that sat propped on three legs next to the built-in receptionist desk. On the chair was a towel soiled with black stains. Cobwebs hung from the corners of the room.

  Allison closed her eyes.

  The silence was overwhelming. The Meadows had been built miles from town. It took four back roads to get there, and she couldn’t even hear highway noise. She opened her eyes. Over the horizon, the setting sun glimmered in vibrant shades of red and purple, but the kaleidoscope of color did nothing to soften the memories.

  Somewhere overhead, a crow called. Allison heard a rustling in the overgrown shrubs that lined the building’s façade. She froze, listened. A squirrel dashed out in front of her and Allison let out a long, hard breath. She pictured Violet, leaving the Meadows for the last time. Allison had watched her from a window as the teen made her way out the door and into her caseworker’s car. Violet had looked back, her expression unreadable through the blur of Allison’s tears.

  Allison trudged alongside the old building and made her way toward the recreation center in the rear. A separate chain link gate led into a field encircled by what once had been a paved track. Like the parking lot, the gate was broken and the track was cracked and overgrown with weeds. On the other side of the track, propped up against a razor-topped fence, stood two sets of bleachers. Vines and saplings were growing between and around the metal benches, as though holding the bleachers captive. Allison made her way to that side of the rec field. She stared for a long while at those bleachers, remembering the young girl who would sit by herself on the end, refusing to play whatever sport was going on.

  And Allison would join her. So she wouldn’t be alone.

  Allison wiped a spot on the edge of one bleacher. Night was near now. The ghost of what was once the Meadows spread out before her, she took stock of the place that robbed her of her confidence and, through Violet, had broken her heart. Allison watched a hawk swoop from a nearby tree. The odd rustling in the foliage no longer scared her. Nor did whatever memories lingered in the shadows of this forsaken place.

  She thought of Violet. There was nothing she could do for her now. She thought of Maggie McBride. Maggie still had a future.

  Eventually, Allison stood and made her way back toward her car. Once upon a time, she came to a crossroads and made the wrong decision. This time, she would make the right one.

  Twenty—Two

  The next afternoon, Allison was just leaving her sixth message for Sasha Feldman when Vaughn knocked on her office door. He came in and closed the door behind him.

  “Still won’t answer?” he said when he saw her frustration.

  Allison shook her head. “Doesn’t pick up, won’t return my calls. I know she has a lot going on, so I feel bad disturbing her, but I expected some response.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to head over there myself,” Allison said. “Today if I can.”

  “Well, it won’t be now.” He pointed toward the front door. “Visitor.”

  Allison knew exactly who it was—and this time she wasn’t surprised to hear from him. “Lieutenant Helms.”

  “Shall I tell him you’re unavailable?”

  “No.” Allison sighed. “Might as well get it over with.”

  Vaughn escorted Helms to Allison’s office a few minutes later. Today the detective wore a navy blazer and tan pants. No tie. Although his eyes shone with a certain dogged intensity, his manner was friendly. He shook Allison’s hand and sat in the chair across from her.

  “Thanks for seeing me without notice, Allison. This will only take a few minutes.” He pulled a notebook and pen out of his coat pocket. “I’d like to talk about Maggie McBride.” He looked up. “How long have you known her?”

  Allison thought. It felt like forever. “Almost a month.”

  “How would you categorize your relationship?”

  “Professional.”

  “She seems to consider you a friend.”

  Despite herself, Allison smiled. “Did Maggie say that?”

  Helms nodded.

  Allison shrugged. “We share a dog.” He gave her a quizzical look, and Allison gave him an abbreviated version of how Brutus came to be in both of their lives. She watched his face for a reaction, but he remained impassive. He wrote something in his notebook.

  Helms said, “Any signs of violence from Maggie?”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “A temper? Fits of rage?”

  Allison shook her head.

  “Has Maggie told you she practices witchcraft?”

  “Yes. Wicca.”

  “And that she believes in black magic?”

  “She didn’t say that specifically.”

  “What did she say?”

  Allison took a moment to think. Mostly, Allison had dismissed whatever she said as the babblings of a teenager searching for identity. Allison said, “Not much. We didn’t really get into it.”

  The Lieutenant frowned. “Are you aware that Maggie kept a knife in her room?”

  That came as a surprise to Allison. “No.”

  “Udele Daldier was killed with a knife.”

  For some reason, it was odd hearing Udele’s last name. She had always been simply Udele to Maggie and her family. It struck Allison that Udele Daldier had a past and a life and, probably, dreams and hopes bigger than running the McBride household. Udele had not been particularly friendl
y to Allison, but nevertheless, Allison felt a pang of sorrow for the fact that whatever Udele Daldier wanted out of life, it was not to be.

  “The same knife?”

  The Lieutenant simply stared at her. “Ms. Campbell, do you understand what a troubled girl Maggie McBride is?”

  “Maybe having everyone refer to her as troubled is part of the problem.”

  Helms stood and walked over to Allison’s book shelf. He took his time perusing the books on the shelf before saying, “Did Maggie ever mention spells, curses, that sort of thing?”

  “Do you think Udele died because of a curse, Lieutenant?”

  He turned abruptly. “Please. Just answer the question.”

  Allison took in his demeanor: all business. Lieutenant Helms had reason to be worried. It didn’t look good to have had a second murder go down on the Main Line under his watch, especially with the first one still unsolved. But worry could turn to desperation—and desperation into a witch hunt. Allison decided for Maggie’s sake to play along.

  “No, no curses, Lieutenant. I think Maggie was mostly playing at the witchcraft. For a reaction. But she certainly wasn’t out to harm anyone.”

  The Lieutenant stuck the end of his pen in his mouth, bit down on it, and gave her a condescending smirk. “You believe that?”

  “Yes.” Allison bristled. “Besides, Wiccan is a peaceful religion. It’s not the same as devil worshipping.”

  “But it’s a slippery slope. What begins as interest in the occult can broaden, deepen, especially if fueled by anger or illness.” Helms shrugged. “We’ve seen it before. It’s not that big a leap.”

  Allison studied him. His eyes had softened until they had the look of sad resignation. She was sure he’d seen the worst of what humanity had to offer. Of course, to him, the leap from Wiccan to more sinister occult interests wouldn’t seem so huge. But Allison didn’t agree. “Look, Lieutenant,” she said, “I really have nothing to add to this conversation. I’ve known Maggie for a few weeks. She has an attitude, perhaps—”