Killer Image

by Tyson, Wendy

  Across the room stood a utility sink and a potter’s wheel. On a bench in front of the wheel, one foot on a pedal, sat Desiree. Her long straight hair had been pulled into a loose bun, and she wore clay-smudged jeans and a fitted white t-shirt. She was focused on a willowy vase perched on the wheel. Desiree ran a wire through its top, using two wood handles to guide the wire so that about an inch of clay was removed in one neat band. Then she used her thumbs to smooth and flatten the edge. Allison watched, fascinated, as the clay moved and writhed against the pressure of her fingers.

  “Cool, huh?” Jeremy said.

  Allison nodded. After a few minutes, Desiree stopped the wheel and took her hands off the piece. She looked at Jeremy, grinned, and then glanced at Allison. “So sorry,” she said.

  Allison said, “Not a problem. I appreciate your time.”

  Jeremy said, “Looks good, Desiree. Want me to take it from here?”

  Desiree shook her head. “I’ll clean up. Would you mind giving us a few minutes alone?”

  “Sure. Let me take care of the lady here, first.” Jeremy dug around in a bin next to the utility sink and pulled out a large yellow men’s dress shirt, its sleeves torn, the body stained. “Here you go.”

  Allison put it over her suit, feeling slightly ridiculous. It was huge. “Thanks.”

  Desiree and Jeremy exchanged a look, one Allison couldn’t quite read, and then he was gone.

  “Do you want to sit while I scrub up?” Desiree nodded toward the benches that surrounded the room’s lone table.

  “I’ll stand.”

  Desiree walked to the big sink and filled it with water. Allison followed, wanting to see Desiree’s face as they talked. When the tub was three-quarters full, Desiree dumped tools in and began to scrub with a slimy wedge of sponge. The water looked muddy. Allison wasn’t sure anything was actually getting clean, but maybe that didn’t matter.

  “I won’t beat around the bush, Desiree. I’m here because of Maggie McBride.”

  If Allison was expecting a reaction from the other woman, she was disappointed. Desiree’s face remained blank, and her impossibly long lashed eyes stayed fixed on the sponge and tools.

  “What about Maggie?” Desiree said.

  “I want to know about Maggie and Sarah. What happened at school. The letters.”

  Desiree stopped scrubbing. “You know about the letters?”

  Allison nodded.

  “Do you mind if I ask why you’re interested, Allison? What’s Maggie to you?”

  Allison thought for a moment. What was Maggie to her? Finally, she said, “A friend.”

  Desiree began scrubbing again. “It started about a year ago. As you saw that day at the mall, my daughter, Sarah, can be high-strung, I’m afraid. Maggie was—is—different. Eccentric. The two clashed. They haven’t gotten along since grade school, really.”

  “They’ve known each other that long?”

  Desiree nodded. “They were friends once. Third, maybe fourth grade. But then Maggie, well, she started to change. She withdrew. She stopped playing with Sarah. They didn’t have much contact until last year, when circumstance had them in the same classes and after the same boy.”

  “Ethan Feldman.”

  Desiree sighed. “Yes, Ethan. I didn’t understand what either girl saw in the boy, but who knows what goes through the adolescent mind.”

  Allison smiled. “True.”

  “At first it was harmless stuff. They’d call each other and hang up. Send nasty texts.” Desiree took a handful of tools and wrapped them in a big off-white towel, which she placed on the floor next to her. Then she pulled the drain plug. While the tub emptied, she said, “The letters began coming late last spring. At first it was just hands-off stuff. Stay away from my boyfriend, that sort of thing. But eventually,” she paused to run cold water over the sponge, “eventually they turned darker.”

  Allison’s shoulders tensed. “How so?”

  “Witchcraft references. The letters took on a threatening tone. My husband at the time, Kyle, he called the police when the last letter came.” Desiree turned so she and Allison stood eye-to-eye. “It was written in blood.”

  “How do you know it was real?”

  “I had it tested. I wanted proof, in case...in case we had more problems with Maggie down the line.”

  Desiree had taken the sponge to the wheel and was wiping down its surface. Streaks of clay followed the sponge and dried that way, leaving tracks.

  “How many letters were there?”

  “Three.”

  Allison said, “Were you afraid for Sarah, Desiree?”

  “Yes and no.” Desiree stopped wiping and stood straight. “I was afraid because of the effect it had on my daughter. Sarah was scared. Nightmares, anxiety. Did I think Maggie would actually do anything?” She shook her head. “Not really. But Kyle, well, he was in Papa Bear mode. He wanted Maggie expelled.”

  “In the end, she wasn’t?”

  “No. Hank McBride fought us. We threatened a restraining order. The issues spilled over into school and Maggie was suspended. Arnie Feldman forbid Ethan to see her. To be honest, I felt bad for Maggie.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Because she’s a lonely kid.”

  Allison nodded. “She is. I guess that’s why I’m here.”

  Desiree pulled a duffle out from underneath the table and unzipped it. “Do you mind if I change? I have to be at yoga in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll leave—”

  Desiree laughed. “No, stay. We’re both girls, right?”

  Allison looked away while Desiree pulled off the t-shirt and jeans, replacing them with a fitted tank and yoga pants. Desiree made no attempt to cover up, even when Jeremy came back into the room to retrieve Desiree’s breakthrough piece. In fact, Desiree seemed to flaunt her figure, smiling mischievously at her instructor.

  Allison said, “Art, yoga...how do you find the time?”

  “I have lots of interests. It was one of the sore points between me and Kyle, actually. He was jealous of the time I spent away from him.” She shrugged. “Couldn’t get past it.”

  “That’s a shame for the girls.”

  “He stays in contact with them, so that’s good, I guess.”

  “He lives close enough to see them regularly?”

  “Oh no,” Desiree said. “He lives in Virginia where his main office is. He never sees them. But they talk on the phone. We have an amicable separation.”

  Allison knew there had to be more to that story, but as curious as she was about the Moores’ arrangement, their marriage was not the reason for her visit. Still, she had to wonder how Desiree could afford to keep up her non-working lifestyle now that she was separated. She assumed Kyle was still footing the bill.

  “I have one more question, Desiree, if you don’t mind.”

  Desiree was sliding pedicured toes into lavender flip-flops. “Go ahead.”

  “In all of the letters and interactions between Sarah and Maggie, did Maggie ever specifically mention Satanism?”

  Desiree paused. Allison noticed a sudden clenching of Desiree’s jaw. She felt herself tense, unsure she even wanted to hear the answer to her question.

  “Kind of,” Desiree said finally. “She talked about the devil.” She pulled a light jacket out from her bag and tugged it over her arms. Her gaze met Allison’s. “But more than that, it was the tone of the letters, her verbal threats to Sarah.” Desiree shook her head. “I understood Sarah’s terror. Maggie was a child in over her head. It was just a matter of time before she crossed that line. And I was damn sure it wouldn’t be with my child.”

  Back in her car, Allison’s hand shook as she dialed Vaughn’s number. He didn’t answer. She checked her voice mail. Three work-related calls and one from Mia, asking her to call as soon as possible. She dialed Mia’s number.
No answer.

  “Dammit,” she said under her breath.

  She put her head back on the seat and took a deep breath. Think, Allison. Desiree had left her feeling unsettled. The woman’s confidence, her calm manner. Allison realized she had been ready to dismiss the raving lunacy of an overinvolved mother, but Desiree seemed neither crazy nor overprotective. To the contrary, she came across as rational and legitimately concerned. Maybe I’m the one who’s crazy, Allison thought. She hit the speed dial for Vaughn again.

  Did she want to believe Maggie to the point of not seeing clearly? Just like all those years ago when she, the one person charged with caring for Violet, had failed to see the signs?

  On the third try, Vaughn picked up.

  “Finally,” Allison said.

  “Mia may have a lead.”

  “Were you talking with Mia? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

  Silence met her on the other end. She thought she heard coughing in the background. “Vaughn, are you alone?”

  “No. Look, I can’t really talk now. Why don’t we meet at the office? I’ll be there in an hour.”

  Feeling even more unsettled, Allison said, “Fine.” She hung up, wondering about that cough and Mia’s lead. She pulled out of the parking lot, feeling a sudden sense of loss at the previous simplicity of her life. What had she written in her book? Life is only complicated if you let it be. Well, somewhere along the line she had lost control.

  And she wanted it back.

  Vaughn hung up, feeling guilty. He rolled over and pulled Mia to him. “This is so wrong. You know that, don’t you?”

  She smiled up at him, the beautiful angles of her face haloed in the ripe afternoon sunlight. She pulled his face to hers. He kissed her gently.

  “Yes,” she said finally.

  He wanted her again, but there was no time. It was bad enough they’d stolen the last hour when he should have been at home, with Jamie, or at First Impressions. Anywhere but Mia’s bed.

  “I need to meet Allison.”

  “What are you going to tell her?” Mia suddenly looked concerned. He reminded himself that she had as much at stake here as he did. A newly-healed relationship with Allison, for starters.

  “The truth. That I met with you to talk about your meeting with Brenda. And that I followed up with Jason about that lead on Jack Bremburg.”

  Mia looked thoughtful for a moment. He felt her legs, long and muscular, snake through his own. He forced himself to disentangle and slide out of bed.

  “Don’t forget your watch,” Mia said. She reached over and pulled his gym watch off the bedside table. He rose, pulled on his pants and tucked it into his pocket.

  “What do you think?” Mia said. “Bremburg have any relevance to this case?”

  Vaughn considered the few facts they had while he pulled his polo shirt over his head. “Who the hell knows. Child abuse sounds like an excellent motive. I guess we’ll see.”

  Twenty—Eight

  Allison arrived at First Impressions ahead of Vaughn. She decided to put her anxiety aside and concentrate on work until he arrived. She did still have a business to run. For now, anyway.

  She turned on her computer and then walked into the small kitchenette sandwiched between her office and the client room to make some tea. When she returned to her desk, she opened her email and scanned her mail. Her eyes fell on a name: Catherine McBride. She opened it. It was short and sweet.

  Dear Ms. Campbell:

  We know you have been texting Maggie. Given your influence over her and in light of recent circumstances, we would like you to desist all contact. If not, in Maggie’s best interest, we will have to request a restraining order against you.

  Regards,

  Catherine McBride.

  Allison wasn’t stupid. She knew Hank was setting her up, planting the seeds of suggestion so that, eventually, he could point the finger at her. Building a case through his daughter to keep his own hands clean. Allison also knew that if Maggie went down, he fully intended to bring her along, too.

  Allison’s vision blurred with anger. If their intent was to see her cower, they had misjudged their target.

  “Allison?”

  Allison jumped. “Vaughn, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  He smiled. “Working too hard, as usual?”

  “No, unfortunately. Not working at all.” She motioned toward the email and he read it over her shoulder.

  “McBride’s getting antsy.”

  “I know. And it’s only going to get worse.”

  “Well, remember, no one has arrested Maggie at this point. The police are probably afraid to act too hastily. They don’t want the congressman after them, either.” He paused. “You going to reply?”

  She’d considered that. “No, I don’t think so. Anything I say will be used against me—or worse, Maggie.”

  “I think it’s time you talk to a lawyer.”

  “For what? I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “Still. This makes me antsy. McBride has it out for you.”

  “McBride has nothing on me.” Allison shook her head. “I refuse to react.” She pointed to the email. “This is all nonsense, distracting me from the real issue. If only McBride would cool it, maybe we could work together. He may dislike me, but you’d think he’d want to clear Maggie at least as much as I do.”

  “I guess. Unless he suspects she’s guilty.” Vaughn pulled out the second chair in Allison’s office and sat across from her. He filled her in on his friend’s online research and the fact that Maggie changed over time.

  “Supports the theory that Maggie was framed,” Allison said.

  “I guess.” Vaughn paused. “Now, for Mia’s news. Name Jack Bremburg ring a bell?”

  Allison thought. “Vaguely. Why? Should it?”

  “Head of a major local energy company?”

  Why did she know that name? “I think I worked with an ex, years ago. So?”

  “So his most current wife accused him of molesting their daughter. A six-year-old. Feldman was representing him on both the divorce and seeking sole custody for Mr. Bremburg.”

  “Are you thinking that maybe Bremburg’s wife did it?”

  “That was Mia’s first thought. She called Jason. The wife did go to the police with this, but no evidence of abuse was found—”

  “Of course, what’s a little girl going to say? She’d be scared to death.”

  Vaughn held up his hand. “Exactly. So no charges were filed and Feldman somehow managed to keep it out of the local papers. Anyway, I’m going to visit the wife later this week. But I would think if she’d go after anyone, it’d be the husband, not his attorney.”

  Allison nodded. “If I knew my husband was molesting my child, I think I’d kill him.” She picked up a pen and started doodling circles on a piece of notepaper, thinking. “Besides, unless this woman knows enough about Maggie to frame her, she wouldn’t fit the bill.”

  “True. But there’s another possibility.”

  Allison put the pen down. “Out with it.”

  “Jason told me lawyers can report client conduct if they believe it will result in bodily harm to someone. What if Feldman knew Bremburg intended to continue molesting his daughter? What if, afraid he would look complicit in his client’s crimes, he told Bremburg he could no longer represent him? Or he threatened to go to the police? Maybe Bremburg killed Arnie.”

  “But that doesn’t explain the Maggie connection.”

  “I thought of that too.” Vaughn stood and paced the room, his hands in his pockets. “Mia said Ethan knew about Bremburg because Arnie was always moaning about him at home. What if the reverse was true? What if he was always complaining about home– Ethan and Maggie–to his clients? Or at least certain clients?”

  Allison said, “Well, it’s something. And something is a heck o
f a lot better than nothing.” She glanced at her watch, and reached to turn off her computer. “I have to get going. Jason’s coming for dinner.”

  “For your birthday tomorrow?”

  Allison nodded. “Faye and I are going out tomorrow night. She’s in Philly for a med appointment and asked to meet me.” Allison had a sudden thought. She said excitedly, “Join us tonight. It’s nothing fancy, but I’d love you to be there. We can talk shop. Or not. It’s been a while since we’ve seen each other outside of the office.”

  “Are you sure? Three’s a crowd and all.”

  Allison smiled. “Absolutely, please come.”

  “What time?”

  “Seven.”

  “Maybe I’ll take you up on that, if you’re sure it won’t be a romantic dinner for two.”

  Allison laughed. “That, I can guarantee.”

  “Balsamic vinaigrette or bleu cheese?” Allison reached down and absentmindedly patted Brutus’s head.

  “Blue cheese for me.” Mia pulled something out of Allison’s oven. It was wrapped in tin foil and smelled heavenly.

  Allison had been surprised when Jason called earlier in the week and suggested he come over and help her celebrate her birthday. She was even more surprised when he showed up with Mia. But Allison had to admit, tonight felt cozy and comfortable. Mia had brought pork loin and garlic mashed potatoes, Jason brought wine, and Allison made a salad.

  “Vinaigrette,” Jason said. He walked behind Allison and gave her rear a surreptitious pat. She turned, ready to say “hands off,” but something in his eyes stopped her. She saw wanting. And it stirred her own feelings.